I don' really write anymore because not only is my spirit and confidence essentially ground into dust, but because I genuinely feel like nobody cares what I have to say, so why bother saying it? I cant do it for myself, becsuse my self esteem is literally nothing. There is no self love to build that motivation upon. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? If a thought or feeling is said but never heard, was it ever expressed?
I also have been crushed by the unshakable truth that its detrimental to truly express myself authentically. Almost all the people Ive called friends who ended up abandoning me did so in whole or in part because like so many autistic/neurodivergent people, dealing with me and what I think and feel got to be too much for them to handle. Thus, if i do not wish to spend the rest of my life entirely alone, I must curate and curtail my every thought and feeling.
The only person I can express myself truly to is my therapist. Which as I've told her is depressing on its own. It's like paying for sex work, its perfectly fine, and even beneficial. But if the genuinely only way you can experience what is supposedly part of the human experience is to pay for it in a transactional capacity, well it doesnt feel as good as if it were authentically earned. The result is that while therapy helps, on some the continuing cacophony of bottled up echoes of thoughts and feelings maintains levels at dangerous pressure levels. Repeating the soul crushing feeling that i am something monsterous trying to reach the impossible goal of humanity. What hope is there of salvation if I must stich my lips shut, lest my horrid wailing scare away the few dear things I have in this world?
Truly, I have no mouth, and I must scream.

















