What is there?

I am sad at the moment. That’s why I haven’t blogged in a while. I didn’t have anything to say because nothing was happening to me, except my mind was crumbling.

Everyone I know has a future. I can see them living their life happily in the future. But I can’t see my own future.

I have autism, which makes most social situations much more challenging. I have selective mutism, which is why most jobs wouldn’t work for me. You can’t exactly blank the customers! Most people don’t understand why I’m unable to work, encouraging me to try, and telling me about opportunities, without realising how extremely anxious this makes me. In my current state of being, normal jobs just aren’t for me. I can’t do it because of my challenges. But I want to have a goal, something to strive for, to live for. Because, at the moment, I have no goal. I’m not living, I’m surviving. I can’t do a lot of things because of my problems but because no one can actually see my disability, they keep encouraging me. It’s nice, that they think I have potential, but to be honest, it’s kinda like telling a blind person to see.

I want to do something so bad but I’m tired, I’m sad, and I have no motivation. My anxieties are everywhere. What is there for someone like me to do? Someone who can’t even go out alone, someone who often can’t speak for herself. What is there?

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dangerous mind (poem)

bad, bad words
in my head
scary, scary thoughts
like go be dead
no one to talk to
they all say it’s nothing
but I think I’m suffocating
trouble inside
my dangerous mind
no, no to my feelings
they gonna go, go away
or maybe
I’ll just wait for
the stars to fall another day

The Mind of Anxiety

Leave the house or everyone will forget you exist.
Return home or they will remember how awful you are.
Speak up or people will think you have no tongue.
Be silent or you will offend the world.
Do what they ask or you won’t be respected.
Disobey them or you won’t be respected.
Listen to something else other than your mind, for once.
How can you listen to something else when your mind won’t ever leave?
It’s that music the neighbours are playing too loud, it’s your heartbeat that you just remembered is right there, it’s the alarm clock reminding you that you are alive.
Talk to people or you’ll suffocate.
Don’t talk or their advice will make you regret it.
No one can help you except yourself, they say.
Try being me. Then give me that advice. I can’t help myself. I’m a block of ice. Helping myself would mean melting away.

Dear Eve: Secrets

Dear Eve,

I have a secret. It’s a secret I can’t even tell you, Eve, because I know you would disapprove. I don’t think anyone would approve but my secret involves a decision I made. I am sick of other people making decisions for me so I made my own decision for once. I want to be my own person. I didn’t want to do this but I felt like I was backed into a corner, Eve, and now the decision is done. The decision I will not tell anyone about. We all have secrets, skeletons; mine doesn’t affect anyone else, just me, and that’s why it should be my decision and my decision alone. How many secrets do you have, Eve?

My family think they know what’s best for me. Sometimes they do but sometimes they don’t and sometimes I need to decide what’s best for me myself. I just want to be able to be myself again. I haven’t been myself for a while because I haven’t been able to write whatever I wanted. My mind has been riddled with nothing and that’s the scary thing. I’m a writer, so when my mind is empty, where does that put me? Without a purpose, or a goal, or anything to pass the time.

I feel scared of the future. I can’t talk to many people about my worries but I can talk to you because you’re imaginary. When I talk to real people, the vast majority of them give me the advice that I really don’t need. They try to help but they don’t and it’s always been that way… so eventually you stop going to them. Eventually you close yourself off and don’t tell them, because you know they’ll say “if you try, it will work” or “you can do it!” — and that’s people who actually try to help. Sometimes, I’m pushed to the side because people (particularly my family) aren’t in the mood. They’re never in the mood to just talk to me and they’re the people that I want to talk to the most. They’re who I really want to talk to about my problems.

When you can’t talk to people, or when they tell you to wait, eventually you want to take matters into your own hands. I am sick of people telling me happiness is a choice. Not for me, it isn’t. It has never been a choice for me. For people with depression, that’s going to make them feel worse. It’s going to make them think: “if happiness is a choice, why can’t I make myself happy?”

I have decided a lot of things recently, personal things, and I have told no one about them. They’re my secrets. If I told a single soul about them, I know that I wouldn’t get what I’m after. The point of telling people used to be just to get it off my chest, to have someone know; it was a relief. Now I feel like there is no point. No matter how close I am to the person, however much they mean to me, I am worried about their response. That’s why I’m silent.

Thank you for reading, Eve. I know this letter might seem confusing or strange, but it meant that I could at least get something off my chest, even if I couldn’t tell you the full story.

Love,

Lia

C [Poem]

Sometimes it’s A or B,
Other times there’s only C.
They say you have a choice,
but that isn’t always true.
Often, you have to resort
to doing what’s best for you.
It might make them upset
but you’re not their puppet.
A or B might lead you astray,
so give C a try,
before it’s taken away.

Let’s Be Honest

Let’s be honest.

I’m in a black hole

that’s sucking me in deeper,

and I’m trying to reach —

reach for the stars, as they say,

but I can never make it.

Let’s be honest.

I’ve been like this for a while,

sleep is my companion

and my worst enemy,

I don’t have the motivation

to get motivation,

I don’t have the aspiration

to get aspirations,

I don’t have the strength

to get strength.

Let’s be honest.

I’m sorry I can’t pull myself away,

from the same muddled day

I’ve been living for too long,

it’s a blurred mess.

Let’s be honest,

I’m depressed.

What My Depression Feels Like

I’ve been depressed for a long time, suffered from anxiety for most of that time too, though I think the depression started first. I wasn’t even a teenager when it started. I have been on medication for it since I was fifteen, and I’m currently trying to get it changed as I am now an adult and it’s really not working. Not so many years ago, I overdosed on iron pills and spent quite a few hours in A&E, but I had thrown up most of them already. This was my way to get away from toxicity by digesting toxicity. Not my best idea.

I usually talk about my anxiety on this blog. My anxiety is simpler than my depression, because I can understand it. I can understand why I have it and what factors contributed to me getting it. I can understand why I used to be depressed, but I can’t get why I still am.

I guess it’s because of expectations, and what everyone else is doing with their life… and the fact that I can’t just get up and do something. It’s not that simple. Depression is never that simple. I’m at home most days, lonely. I want to get out and do stuff, but I can’t. A heavy weight stops me from doing it.

I want to be distracted, to have a friend come over and distract me, but people that were once my friends are now further apart from me than ever. They’re moving on with their lives, going places. And I’m not. You can’t expect me to just get a job, or to just go to university. It’s not that simple, again. Autism and depression don’t mix. I was never good at interacting with people, especially strangers. I want to volunteer but my confidence isn’t very high. My anxiety also coincides with this. I just feel so alone about all this.

This is just how I am. I’m sad all the time, but I’m too exhausted to talk to someone, because my mouth won’t move. So I type.

Exclusion

To exclude: deny (someone) access to a place, group, or privilege.

Have you ever been excluded?

What did it feel like?

To me, the feeling of being excluded is something I constantly feel, when people choose to do something together

and I’m not included.

It is something I feel so, so much that I end up beating myself up for it. I’ve felt this feeling so much and it’s one of the main contributors to my lack of self-confidence. If I’m not included, then obviously I’m not good enough, and therefore I must be a terrible person in some way.

I get so lonely and this makes me feel even lonelier.

I want to not feel lonely but that’s not a possibility with this constant exclusion.

I just wish I was better, I guess.

Am I Fat?

That was a rhetorical question by the way, so don’t answer it. 😉

I’ve suffered from depression for a long time, probably since I was about eight, but it was never diagnosed until I was about twelve, when my parents found out I’d been causing harm to myself. Depression is something that doesn’t just get better with an “it’ll be fine”. When you’re told how worthless you are for a long time — at school, you believe it, and it will never go away. I was once a really confident and bubbly kid, turned into something unsure and assumptive because of what people have said, because of what I have said to myself.

Despite having some really caring friends now, I still know some people that make me feel rubbish, but I can’t do anything about it. They make me feel like everything I say or do is wrong, that it’s my fault. Maybe it is my fault, but I’ve been called wrong so many times that I don’t know the difference between right and wrong anymore. It’s like it’s been put in a blender and mixed together. I can’t understand it. Often, people say that what I consider wrong is right, and that what I consider right is wrong. Then other times, they don’t. It’s confusing.

So, this leads me to the title of my post, my depression often leaves me turning to simple comforts. Sometimes, that simple comfort is food. I might binge eat sometimes. Other times, however, I don’t eat at all because I realise how disgusting I was being. I don’t seem to have an in-between. I feel really fat, really really fat, despite the fact that I’ve been told I’m not. I just can’t stop thinking about my weight — I even got a treadmill for my birthday to try and lose weight. But I feel sad and I feel fat and I feel horrible too. I don’t feel like I have any positive characteristics. I’ve certainly been told by people that I don’t and the only time I’ve been talked about positively is to do with my skills, which is just to do with what I can do, not what I am as a person. So I don’t really know where I stand.

Am I fat? Am I horrible? Am I really worthless? Do I listen to the voices inside me telling me that I am?

I guess I’ll never know, really, as much as people tell me that I’m great blahblahblah or that I’m awful blahblahblah — both types of people could be lying, but it’s hard for me to identify the truth and the lie. Because what people believe is their truth and if that person believes I’m a bad person, then I am a bad person.

I just want some answers, proper answers, ones that shoot through my body like an electric shock. I don’t want to be confused anymore.

Thank you for reading this post,

Lia 🙂