I Have Come Here to Die

YOU ghosted ME. For NO fucking reason.

I thought you were my friend. I was supportive of everything you were going through. I offered you an ear for your woes. A shoulder for you to lean on. We laughed about dumb shit together. We plotted ships and storylines together.

Three fucking years, and it's all down the drain, and you can't even be adult enough to tell me why? You ghosted me, and then had to audacity to vague about how I was guilt tripping you when I simply asked if I had done anything wrong, if there was anything that needed to be fixed? When our last OOC interaction was literally so chill and fine?

This is why I hate people. This is why I can't stand putting myself out there. Three years of friendship, and it's just gone, and you're too pussy to man up and talk to me about it. Which triggered my RSD so bad that I almost hurt myself, again.

I hate you.

I hate you so fucking much.

You are hostile towards neurodivergent people for no fucking reason. You punish us for not conforming to your stupid social rules. You have killed us before and many of you would like to keep killing us, simply because our brains don’t work the way you think it should. You created a world where we are treated as inferior and you do next to nothing to fix things.

I miss having the comfort of sleeping in, swaddled in a thick comforter, hearing the activities of people beyond my bedroom door starting their days.

I miss having the man who used to call himself my father pick me up and give me a hug and a kiss, his mustache scratching my cheek, smelling his cologne. I miss him asking me what I dreamed about, what I wanna do today.

I miss having my mother’s love as she kisses my head and gives me breakfast. I miss knowing that she’ll be happy with the day, happy to spend time with me, happy that things are okay for the time being.

I miss having my sister by my side, ready to play unless she has school to go to. I miss having her show me new books she got from friends, or a new paper made fortune teller so we can ask it silly questions and squeal over the answers.

I miss playing in the backyard with my dog, chasing him around as he runs along the fence line so fast he looks like he’s tilting on two legs. I miss playing fetch, or tug of war, and giving him kisses, feeling his warm furry body wriggling against my as he kisses my face in return.

I miss being allowed to play and be messy. I miss being able to sit and watch the same Disney movies on repeat because it made me happy. I miss being able to create stories with my original Polly Pockets or my Barbie Dolls, having “parties” with my stuffed animals, lining rocks up in a line in order of how big or shiny they were and counting them. I miss jumping rope in the backyard, I miss the carefree hours until I was allowed to take a well deserved nap.

I miss when I was three years old, and my family was whole and unbroken. I miss being three years old, and I didn’t carry trauma that weighed me down to the ground. I miss when I was three years old, and my future looked bright, and I wasn’t strange or annoying or needy, or autistic or ADHD. I was just a kid, a bright imaginative kid who wanted to see the world and make friends and have the security in knowing my family loved me.

I lost my biological mother to a purposeful drug overdose when I was just shy of turning eight years old. To this day, twenty years later, I am still affected by her decision to take her own life, and how much pain it still causes me. That even now, out of nowhere, I’ll think of her, and I’ll be reverted back to that horrible day of her funeral, asking people why she always broke her promises. And someone literally commented such a horrible thing on my video, completely ignoring what they just watched, because it “resonated with them”.

I don’t care if you “resonated” with me trying to share my grief and share a link to other children of addicts who lost their family members to similar causes of death. You don’t ever come and pretend like the grief I still have over losing someone so important to me means nothing. “Oh the impact won’t affect them much, they’ll be okay”, I assure you they won’t be. If you kill yourself, the people who genuinely love you will be reeling and be sent down a rabbit hole of mental health issues that lasts their entire lives. 

Do you know what it’s like, feeling like your heart’s being ripped out your chest when you go to message a friend, only to find out you’re blocked? Do you have any idea what it’s like, being suddenly unable to breathe as panic rushes through you, as you try to contact the other people to ask if everything’s okay, what might have happened, what you need to fix, only to never get a response? Do you know what it’s like to go to mutual friends to ask for advice, only to be told harshly that you’re “too needy”, or to have that mutual friend block you too?

And on top of all of that, you don’t know what you did wrong. You really don’t. No one came to you beforehand about anything you must have said or did that made them upset. No one gave you that chance to apologize and try to fix whatever went wrong. 

No, they would rather abandon you, knowing that they’ll be triggering this feeling inside of you, and you’re left to sink to the floor in hysterical tears, your mental health spiraling downwards so fast that you wish you were dead. Your whole body hurts, like it’s been trampled, and you can’t stop crying until your head is pounding, and you can’t breathe, and still you don’t know what you did wrong! 

And then the paranoia sets in, wondering who’s next, wishing you knew what to do to prevent this from happening again, desperate to bend over backwards to make sure the people you see as friends won’t abandon you next.