I swear upon my best moment the next person who tells me to ‘think positive thoughts’ or ‘try to see the glass as half full’ or ‘oh, don’t be so negative!’ five minutes after meeting me for the first time is going to get the biggest “FUCK YOU” I’ve got to give to them.
I know my history and my present and my chances of significantly improving either given my current set of risk factors, day to day realities, and of course, this fucking brain that won’t leave me alone.
And you, you human, you only met me literally five minutes ago and legitimately know NOTHING about me because you’re so overbooked you can’t even remember who your next patient is without looking….. you do NOT get to tell me I’m “too negative” or “what you should be is…”.
You are paid to assess my physical function. My appointment with those who support emotional and mental function is elsewhere, so stay in your fucking lane, m’kay?
I have earned every second of my reality both good and bad, and I’m no longer minimizing any of them for the comfort of others.
Particularly for the comfort or convenience of you, paid service provider. You don’t want to have to know me personally, remember? Yeah, let’s stick to that, shall we? And remember, you were the one to crossed the line, so maybe try not to hold me calling your ass out on it against me. I know you will because “I made you feel…” and guess what? I don’t fucking care.
Why don’t I care? I’ll tell you:
Because had you bothered to care from the beginning, or even in the middle of this reading, or now, or NOW…… **this** is not where we would be.
And your emotional bag still hanging like a sad lunch trade tale gone wrong in your hand tells me more than your moving mouth ever will.
Words are cheap and haven’t fed or clothed or kept me off the street; not even once.
Actions are the only true currency between humans.
I know who I am. I know how I feel. I know why I feel this way.
I know I’m the only one who cares that I am angry, sad, depressed, anxious, and in pain.
I know I am the only one actively working on trying to acquire and sustain support and treatment.
I know I will run out of money, time, or both trying to get the word “restored” into my narrative.
I live in a culture that is decaying, a biosphere we have caused to collapse upon us, and a time in which we only begin to glimpse the wonders that access and manipulation of the neural and molecular chemistry can manifest (we play with antimatter and call it manageable… so arrogant).
Of course, no one will believe me when I try to tell them about my reality. The idea that there is an objective reality becomes a wall I cannot surmount. Sucks to be me.
Oh, but they will all tell me what part of me I should “just change” to “fix it”, this whole ‘doesn’t fit’ part of me.
As if that shouldn’t be a big deal for me at all. As if pretzeling yourself for others is now some reified contract to which my dna was sealed.
As if that daily reality for all my life wasn’t the significant contributor to where I am, how I feel, and how effective attempts over time to “normalize” have progressed.
I am an autistic human being. My reality is very different from those around me. From those who were family. Or coworkers. Or “friends”. Or, well, anyone.
But it has never mattered because the narrative has always been “your value is bestowed, not innate.”
No surprise, a big ol ‘fuck you’ on that, too.
Apparently, the only way for me to truly put myself first is to seclude. Somehow, I don’t think all these humans get how this whole ‘mutual respect society’ and ‘pluralism’ thing is supposed to work.
That said, I’m grateful for the ability to seclude. I’d probably be dead right now had it not been for Corona, and for all I’ve been playing dodgeball with it since, I’m glad to be alive. Now I want to be comfortable and to feel secure for once in my life.
We’ll see how it goes, as always we do.