unmaskedvoice

I’ve had it. Had it up to here.

With psychologists, teachers, coworkers, parents, doctors. With people who think they have the right or the expertise to tell me who I am and how I should be.

“Lacks empathy,” they say.

“Emotionally cold.”

“Can’t put herself in other people’s shoes.”

“Emotional blindness.”

“No interest in social interaction.”

Big words. Hot air.

I want you inside my head for five minutes. Just five. That’s all it would take. I’d flood you with my thoughts. Bury you under my feelings. Make you feel my storms. Until you’re gasping for air and begging for it to stop. And then I’d ask: “So? No feelings? Or do you just lack empathy?”

Feelings?

Here.

All of them.

At once.

Joy and happiness and rage and fear and grief and too much and too loud. Tearing each other apart. Until there’s nothing left.

Only in the eye of the storm, there’s quiet.

I wanted to call it slander. Charge you with defamation. But intent requires understanding. You don’t understand shit. Case dismissed. You don’t know any better. Human dignity is supposed to be sacred. Your judgments aren’t.

You can’t describe me. You can’t even think me. The emptiness isn’t absence. Isn’t lack. It swallows everything else. A placeholder for the emotional chaos slipping through my fingers. When it all becomes too much. When everything screams at once.

That’s when the world tips.

Thick iron cuffs around my wrists. Cold. Heavy. Chains rattling with every movement. Musty, damp air. Shoulders on fire. Legs shaking. Everything hurts. If I let myself hang, the metal cuts deeper. No mercy. The walls won’t give. I can’t take it. But I have to. I wait for unconsciousness to finally come. Forever. Or maybe it’s only been a few minutes.

Eventually I come back. The pain’s still there, but my numb fingers start to tingle. Then I get up. Function. Smile at your clever diagnoses in my file. At how clueless you are. At your pathetic attempts to shove me into a box.

And then I go home. Sit down. Write my own words. With half-dead fingers.

Not because you’ll understand.

But because I exist.

Even when you can’t think me.

I keep writing.

Even when I can’t think myself.

Hey everyone, I’ve been thinking about how often I’ve wished I was more normal.

This is for anyone who’s ever felt the same way.

————————————————————————

Sometimes I just want to be normal.

Neurotypical. Open. Talkative.

Make small talk, be present,

interested, without fear of being too much.

Average. Likeable. Unremarkable.

Sometimes I just want to drift through the day.

Without overthinking everything.

Carefree. Light. Unburdened.

Sometimes I just want to be average.

Not feel too much.

Not want too much.

Not think too much.

And then I realize:

Actually, I want more.

Actually, I don't want to stop asking questions.

Until everything makes sense. Until I finally understand.

Demanding. Alert. Insatiable.

Actually, I want to understand everything.

Myself. My life.

Every meaning. Every connection.

And then I want to blow it all up,

just to see what's behind it.

Conscious. Searching. Unflinching.

Actually, I don't want superficial conversations

just to be liked.

I want to be real.

Authentic. Genuine. Deep.

Actually, I want to experience every nuance of my emotions.

Feel everything. Explode with joy.

And never settle. Never again.

I want more.

Actually, I want everything.

Actually, I want to sink into life.

Completely. Without filter.

I want to be exactly who I am.

Full of questions.

Full of depth.

Fully myself.

Sometimes I'm actually proud.

Proud to be autistic.

Wired differently. But whole.

The elevator door opens. Taylor Swift warbles from the speakers. Before I step out, I cast a final glance at the mirror on the wall. Apply lip gloss. Fix hair. Breathe in for three seconds. Breathe out for six seconds. Here we go.

“Good morning. How are you?”

“I’m fine, and you?”

The words come automatically. Routine. Script. Autopilot. The smile too. Someone asks about my weekend. Fitness, household, cooking, kids. The usual. Everyday life.

Someone cracks a joke. Everyone laughs. I laugh along. Delayed. A heartbeat too late. But I laugh. Automatically.

My inner self knows what to do: Observe. Nod. Adjust facial expressions. Mirror gestures. Modulate voice. It’s not actually that hard.

They smile. I smile. They’re serious. I’m serious. All algorithm. All internalized.

In the moment it costs me nothing. It comes easily. Nod. Smile. Automatically.

Only the two seconds of eye contact I have to maintain consciously. Two seconds. Precise.

The elevator door closes behind me. Automatically. Mirror. Hair disheveled. Whatever. Lips chapped. Also whatever. Smile freezes. Head throbs. Heart pounds. Breathe in for three seconds. Breathe out for six seconds.

Home. Shower. Water on. Thought carousel on:I wasn't me. I was them. Automatically.

My thoughts circle around shamanistic rituals. Leave the body, spirit wanders, sometimes you return and someone else has taken your place.

Trapped in the spirit world. I analyze the day into the ground. Water off. Thought carousel off.

She asks: “And how do you feel when you think back to it?”

Oh. A question. How do I feel? My head is empty. Can’t be that hard. Come on.

Simple question, simple answer. In my head there’s… nothing. Emptiness. Static.

Fuck, what do I feel?

The clock on the wall ticks. A car honks outside. I look out the window… and back again. Focus now.

She’s looking at me. Waiting. I smile nervously. Look past her eyes, at her hairline. There’s a small wrinkle. Right below it.

“Just a moment, I’m still thinking.” Sadness? Fear? Anger? I really don’t know.

Silence. Emptiness. In my chest everything contracts. Pressure. A knot. But is that a feeling?

“What does your body tell you? What do you feel?” Her voice cuts through the silence. Loud and sudden. Electric shock in my head.

Okay. Body. I can do that. Right?

My feet are cold. My hands too. The carpet has a beautiful pattern. Lots of small green triangles. Symmetrical. Regular. Calming… somehow.

But I can’t tell her that. She wants something else. Labels. Fear, sadness, despair… or panic maybe? No idea. The clock keeps hammering. I’m supposed to find words. But there is no word.

Fight. Flight. Freeze.

Not freeze. Please not freeze.

I want fight, goddammit. I want to feel. Do something to coax out my emotions. Fight. I try to convince my sympathetic nervous system. Do something. The vagus is firing too. Everything at once. Blocked. Freeze.

Hands cold. Feet cold. Heartbeat calm. Too calm. No reaction. My body does nothing.

I sit still. The triangles at my feet. Perfect. Why do I only see that? Silence. Outside and inside. Inside it’s heavy. I can’t give an answer.

Failure.

A simple question. And I’m mute. Tick. Tock. With every second, shame tightens around my heart. Constriction. I can’t. I don’t feel them. Or I can’t name them.

We sit. Small table. Side street. Late summer. Air heavy, asphalt, trams, people, distant sirens. Voices. Traffic. Everything loud. Body vibrating. Heart racing. Hands cold. Thoughts jumping. Adrenaline everywhere.

So much noise, so many thoughts, none finished. Why are we here? Do you like me? How do I look? What if you notice how boring I am? What if I run out of words and that awkward silence sets in?

It doesn’t. You talk, you listen, you pull me into your conversation. With every minute I feel a bit more like myself. A bit safer.

The alcohol kicks in. But it’s more than that. You practice eye contact with me. Short at first, then longer. For an autistic woman with butterflies in her stomach, a challenge. And yet beautiful. Closeness. Safety.

First touch. Brief, fleeting. An accident? The next touch follows, clear now: not an accident. I see your hands. You stroke mine. They’re large, strong, and yet soft, warm, loving. They give me safety. My heart races, then stops. Thoughts erased. Everything stops. Electric shock in my head. Everything. Still.

Slowly, as darkness grows thicker around us, I freeze. I shake, violently, uncontrollably. So much feeling at once. Too many, too strong. I freeze, then I shake. But here it’s different. I don’t want to push it away. I want to feel everything.

Thoughts jumping: Your hands. My heart. The warmth of your hand. The gaze. We talk about work. I felt rushed, wanted more time. But Peter did well. You look at me. You say I did well. Emphasis in your voice. Then you take my hand, hold it. Your warmth, your strength, tender and loving. Everything else fades. Just you and me and our hands.

Heart beating too fast. Breath short. Thoughts jumping wildly. Freezing. Shaking. Hands clasped. Warmth against cold. Everything at once. A wish rises. Kiss me. I suddenly understand. Not like before. Never understood. Now. Deep. Intimate. From me. For the first time. Everything else disappears. My hand in yours. Everything at once. Everything. Hands, heart, breath, freezing, shaking. Everything stands still.