153 - A God, Has Heart

Lin

The designated caseworker for today, it seems, was not around.

I don't know if they took leave or are reshuffling, but the irony of me being left out in the cold is kind of funny to me now.

Honestly, I'm struggling to eat, to think, to relax.

Last time I ate was very early this morning in the wee hours. I've not eaten a thing since.

Other neurodivergent people mention this as being executive dysfunction, which to an extent, I agree with, but it also feels like my eating disorder has decided to rear its ugly head again.

And yes, it is an eating disorder, Shirley.

Some of it definitely is a coping mechanism relating to control, but I fear the consequences of my lack of nutrition coming back to bite me in the arse.

Frankly, I don't know whether I'll be able to cope with the next two days. More often than not, I spend those days counting the hours, hoping that I'll be able to wait long enough for my caseworker or at least some form of staff to come back before I lose my mind.

Gods willing, I only hope I can keep my head above water to see this through.

I really do want to be healthy and happy, but I'd rather have people to share that health and happiness with, and people to lean on properly if I find myself in times that don't grant me such blessings (which by the way, should be the standard.) or are tumultuous.

At least I can say I did one good thing for myself today, which was to throw away the bad food in the fridge.

Things would be easier if I had my own fridge, but at least now I'm worrying less about wasting food and prioritising health over unrealistic standards of morality, which I am still currently fighting.

As I've been absentminded, I failed to notice that Terrence has dragged me into his lap, and is doing his utmost to comfort me. Fuck, nutritional deprivation is one hell of a drug.

I've got you.

He's stroking my head, and I find myself curling up in his embrace.

Trugarez.

He sighs, pulling me in closer.

You've been in a lot of pain recently, haven't you?

My embrace becomes slightly tighter around him, and I nod slowly, finding my eyes becoming downcast.

Hey...

He raises my head to the level of his, so that my eyes are caught in his concerned gaze.

It's nothing to be ashamed of.

And for the third or fourth time this week, I don't know, my eyes fill with tears.

You know.

For a minute, I sense a mix of sorrow and indignation in his aura.

Of course I do. Part of me had to watch you being abused by those assholes, and I know what they did to you, including shaming you for feeling pain.

So now you isolate to shield yourself from the effects of their shame, but then as a result you don't get the care that you need because you reject it to avoid being reprimanded and therefore proving their point, right?

I nod. But...

It's more than that.

I dig through my mind to retrieve that 'more' that I claim it is. 

There!

I avoid the help because it then proves that I cannot live independently as a result of my autism diagnosis, which allows me to avoid the idea that things are 'harder' for people like me, and the very idea that we as a collective are a burden on society as a result.

I avoid the kindness of others because that idea of being a 'burden' on society has always come with some kind of backbreaking price to pay as a result of 'inconveniencing' neurotypical people.

I'm not ashamed of admitting that I am autistic. I'm ashamed of admitting what I've been taught that it means, and therefore what I've internalised about it, and therefore what I've internalised about myself and others, and how neurodivergency fits into society. Which has basically been 'fit this mould or die'.

At once, I am simultaneously relieved and mortified. How long have I been carrying these beliefs gift wrapped in torture and inspiration porn? And why have people not only accepted this, but encouraged it despite the clear suffering we experience as a result of said expectations?

It really does put into perspective in some ways how some people have treated me as a result of my diagnosis, especially bin boy, who tried to call me ableist as a result of questioning his use of my kitchen (which was actually partly based on what starry pants was telling me was going on, so obviously someone was lying. Whether that was bin boy or starry pants or both I can't verify, as that information is classified, but I would bet it was both) in relation to his needs. 

None of the internalised disableism was actually aimed at him or his so-called disabilities (which he himself didn't properly verify either, so I have my reservations about calling him disabled, and whilst it's not totally my business, he lived with me, so he ought to have been clearer, but used his lack of communication to be abusive instead), rather, at my own difficulties surrounding the best way in which for me to live, and therefore how little I was capable of doing consistently in comparison to what everyone else seemed capable of.

Well that was some nasty internalised disableism.

Yup.

He runs his hands through my hair.

I want you to know that it isn't your fault, mat eo din?

Mat eo din, let's just assume that I'm crying again.

Ya.

I end up snuggling into his chest, and he separates me from his chest every now and again to dab at my face with tissue.

Not how I expected my Friday night to go, but it's you, so I'm ok with it.

What I'm not ok with is their abuse.

He sighs, but I can view the determination in his eyes. I feel a promise is about to be made.

I won't let it happen again.