Soft

i know, i know, a surprise each time, but i mean it. i have been reborn. i had surgery, mastectomy. i am finally closer to myself than i have ever been. i can look in the mirror. it took years to even get myself to a point of relative acceptance that i can not simply pray it away and it'll fade, that i need help with this. it took ages starting to unlearn my hatred and look into options, sign up for the process. i'll skip the hard part; i'm alive.

i fucking made it. younger me would be so fucking proud. despite everything, like a fucking cactus, i bloomed through the desert sand.

To whoever that is still on the way, keep going. I know, i really do know, every second feels too long but remember:

i couldn't stop it.

i have no idea how i ended up here as i never planned to survive for so long, but i did.

i'm 25 now.

i never planned to be alive for so long and i will spend my birthday alone, again.

still disabled. still in poverty.

i wish i had a big party and many friends.

my childhood ends even though it has never even started. i never got to be a kid. i never got to be a teenager. never got to try things out.

my childhood will end before it started, in quiet because nobody remembers my birthday. i will be alone, the 25th time, and i will watch myself fade away.

"it's not fair" i tell myself but it will not bring my diagnosis earlier and it will not bring my childhood back.

and i will grieve all the missed experiences, all the joy, all the curiosity and laughter that was alright to display as a child but is now considered a symptom. i will grieve all the bonds i fed into and how deeply i loved when no one even asks for my birthday.

i don't think anyone remembers. and the last year leading up to my autism diagnosis i realised that truely nobody cares the way i do and nobody loves the way i love. from handwritten letters, to riddles to a book i wrote for a friend, to paintings and jewelry that reminded me of them.

nobody cares about my damn birthday.

[I don't think this sentence is felt by anyone the way i mean it but]

no one will ring my bell and hug me until i stop crying.

no one will heal me.

no one will make it last.

we're not in the movies.

nobody will even notice until i put on a show, until i starve myself and run out the street with a gun threatening to end myself.

maybe they'll find my blog and ask themselves how they haven't noticed.