It sounds like this stupid-silly thing, blogging about yourself, but…I’ve forgotten. I fell into the world of meta bloggers and felt like I needed to fit in with them, and my personal life was taking a toll so I immersed myself in this meta dimension, and…I forgot.
It became comparable to a special interest, but it was more an escape. ‘Twas easier to read through entire archives of meta blogs than to figure out my feelings or why I couldn’t seem to make my entire being something that has a place in this world.
I didn’t want to share about how everything after that fucking anti-vaccination, anti-autism documentary was complete shit, how I self-harmed after not doing so for over a year, or how I realised who my mom truly is as a person when I thought she’d stolen my identity.
I didn’t want to share how the lack of accessibility in the meta blogosphere is depressing and makes me feel even worse, because I was so embarrassed of admitting it and even more ashamed of having been sucked into it.
I didn’t want to share about my life, because until last year, I hadn’t used a photo of myself on Facebook but instead one of Kaya Scodelario in a black-and-white one that looked like me at first glance, but made people who looked close enough second-guess. I felt too ugly to post selfies or have any photos of myself anywhere in the world; I’ve been faking the expo photos picturing me this whole time.
I didn’t want to share about how messed up being other people’s doll—dressing up for photos, putting on a pretty face, being something and someone else—has made me. I didn’t want to share about how some days I literally cannot even, and it’s more than just a fucking adulting meme for me, in that some days all I can do is tolerate the quiet. It’s an autistic thing, but mention that to any allistic person in denial of my autism or a specialist, and they’ll blame depression, my lack of a “proper” sleeping schedule, and/or my “refusal” to do things that push my limits to the point of meltdowns and overwhelm.
I didn’t want to share about how I do want to make money via blogging and have low-key been trying for a few years now (and I actually do well with it), but always feel ashamed about it when such opportunities arise, because—shocker—I felt ashamed. I still feel ashamed about it, and more so about how it’s one of the few profitable things I’m good at that doesn’t push me to overwhelm or meltdowns, and how it might be the only thing I will be able to do for a while. I’m ashamed because it makes me feel pathetic. I hate myself, though, for not starting this earlier and magically having confidence to do it, because in 26 years old and not yet independent, and I need to figure out a way to get to that point without wanting to kill myself—and soon. That’s why I wanted to blog. Plot twist: It’s been a dream since I was a kid, since I helped out with WhateverLife. But I didn’t have confidence, because I’ve known I’m different from other kids since I was young.
But then it was wrong to want that, so I listened and believed, because all I’ve ever wanted was to fit in and for people to be okay with me as I am. But I don’t want to share more about that, or even about how I learned my family might never accept me, autism and all, a few days before my latest birthday.
Yet, I do. I want to share about it all, but I don’t know how anymore. I don’t know how to do it without being seen as whiny AF or someone who clearly has issues or yet another millennial who is the issue with society. I feel like a burden.
And it really fucking sucks.
And I just…need support, and people to be okay with this and no judgment. But I know I’m going to be judged regardless, because I’m different. Things that come easily or automatic for others don’t come that way for me. Every automatic allistic social skill is one I’ve had to learn, and there are many I still don’t understand.
There are many more things, but I forgot how to be the girl who doesn’t care what people think about her, because I grew up and learned life is much shittier than I expected.
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