There are times when I ask myself why I carry on. What is it, after 50, frankly unhappy years on this planet, when I wish I didn’t exist, that keeps me here ?
It’s not a suicidal expresssion but rather wishing I’d never been born. Wanting to turn the clock back to a period of non-existence where I was nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing.
People don’t get it.
I suppose there are people out there whose capacity for understanding means that life, no matter what happens, passes by in comfortable ignorance or perhaps it passes in blissful unfettered joy. But for me, highly aware and tortured daily by my struggle to fit in, life is a nightmare.
People say that’s my autism talking. Well of course it is!. It’s inextricably linked with me. I am autistic.
And it’s killing me.
I hate it. Not the fact I am autistic but the fact that nobody gets it. Nobody gets me. My lifes so utterly worthless. So utterly futile. So utterly pointless.
I have zero special talent. Two strokes have robbed my brain of any discernible interest in anything. I live with a constant headache of brain fog, terrified of being asked a question and frantically blagging the answer. I can’t concentrate on anything, am instantly bored and just want to curl up and cry.
My partners great but she deserves better. She deserves someone more in tune with her, more outgoing, more social, more lively, more family orientated.
I know I let her down every single day.
I want so much yet have the energy for nothing. I let everyone down because I can’t be who I want me to be, for them and myself.
I loathe myself so deeply that I want to scratch my eyes out and disfigure myself so badly that nobody will ever look at me again.
I can’t carry on.
I hate my life, I hate me.