The curse of the mask sounds like a horror film.
And to me it is.
The daily struggle to mask my true feelings, the inability to express who I really am.
It’s horrendous and it’s killing me.
It’s a slow death and a painful one. Having to act like a neurotypical individual so as to be in control and not let loose the Autistic reality is utterly exhausting. You are so afraid of the mask slipping to the extent of revelation that every ounce of physical and mental strength goes into acting and hiding who you truly are.
Now and again the mask cracks and you will give a glimpse of the Autistic soul beneath the fragile facade but then you have to remind yourself to “pull yourself together” and you do, you paper over the cracks and go again.
But I’m so tired.
Tired of, essentially, living a lie.
And now I’m constantly tearful and fearful. I can feel my sanity slipping. The strain of maintaining this other self is eating away at me. Exercising self control is a burden that’s beating and wearing me down.
I feel trapped, isolated and lonely.
I have nobody to talk to. Nobody who actually understands. Oh I get the “I’m listening” talk but the moment I say a word about being depressed or anxious then I get talked over or told ” you always feel that way!”
I know that!.
Have you ever thought that I feel that BECAUSE I have NO outlet ?.
I suffer with Anhedonia. I am Dysthymic. I know how I feel so instead of being so fucking condescending, interrupting me and telling me that it’s nothing new, how about actually fucking listening ???.
I’m tired of acting normal.
And if my Autism is offensive to you. If my attitude and my core, my being, doesn’t sit so well with you, stop pretending you are a “friend” and find someone who will do what YOU want and will share your interests and give you the love and life you crave.
I try so hard but being “normal” is painful. Being me is painful. I feel terrible. I’m scared. I’m alone.
And I don’t know what to do anymore!
I think about suicide a lot. Not just because of Mum. I want her to talk to. I want her back. I’m 50 and I miss my Mum. I know why she did it. I understand it now and I wish I had her courage.
She deserved to live.
I’m not sure that I do. I fail at everything. I have no special talent.
But tomorrow, again, I have to slip on the mask..
Die a little more.