Secret Shame Catharsis Writing: Part 1

I haven’t been on in a while again.  Sorry about that.  I haven’t really been wanting to.  I mean, I have, but I haven’t.  I could say it’s because I’m incredibly lazy, but that’s not it.  I’ve been rather complacent with everything, being resigned back into the life I’d been dealt.

So, first off, Flapjack and I are exclusive.  She’s aware of the Autism and I’ve been very careful to spell it out, in no uncertain terms, that I might completely freak the fuck out sometime.  Apparently, she’s dated someone with Asperger’s before (they still have that in the UK) and she has a friend who is also on the spectrum.  My goal is not to be a complete spaz.

She keeps calling me sexy and cute and stuff.  It makes me feel weird because I still don’t feel that way about myself.  I’m not going to say I’m working hard on that, because I’m not.  I am working on my body image though.

I see the dietician tomorrow.  Hopefully I can get back on track of seeing food as nutrition, not a painful necessity so I don’t die.

I’ve been having a lot of nightmares.  Mostly about my dad and my brother and my mother and my aunt and uncle.

Sometimes I’ll dream that I’m stuck back living with my dad and my mum and my brother in our old house.  It was fucking filthy and my mum still blames me for it.  I mean, dog piss and shit everywhere, garbage, dirty clothes, dirty dishes… Just an absolute pigsty.  There was no hot water at all for the last several months we were there and I couldn’t shower because of it.  I have a really hard time with ice cold water on my head, as do most people.  We had to take our clothes to the laundromat, and we didn’t always have the money to do so.  So we had to wear dirty clothes.  It was just awful.

We also all slept in one room for a majority of my young life.  Until I had my first period when I was 11, we would even share a bed.  There were always fans and an air conditioner going, even in winter.  My brother and I ended up sleeping on the floor with old, moldy blankets and sleeping bags.  There were rats and bugs everywhere.

The toilet in the bathroom never worked right, and I ended up being told not to flush it.  Feces and urine and mold and moldy clothings were in the bathroom too.  I hadn’t been taught how to brush my teeth proper.  I hadn’t been taught to wipe proper either.  I thought having pain when you peed was normal.  I got a lot of UTI’s.

The kitchen was piled with dirty dishes, again with mold.  So much mold, everywhere there.  There was moldy and rotten food in the fridge and the freezer.  The stove didn’t work right and the oven was invested with rats and the microwave with bugs.  There was dog shit and piss on the floor in the kitchen, too.  It was pretty much everywhere and we had wooden floors.

My parents didn’t pay the garbage bill.  Instead, they had my brother and I toss all the garbage into the back porch.  It was literally filled to the ceiling by the time we left.  The dinging room and front room weren’t much different from the rest of the house.  The only difference being that the dining room had my mum’s computer and the small TV that was set up for my brother and I to play games and watch movies on.  I’ve said this before, but my mum was very heavy back then and she’s still heavy now.  She was on the computer all the time then and she’s on the computer all the time now.

The front room had the big TV.  My dad would watch it and play music at the same time.  Oh look, there’s more dog shit and piss.  And dog hair.  And people hair.  And garbage.  Not even clean garbage, that gross, moldy, wet garbage that smells.  Sometimes I’d sleep on the couch because the upstairs would get too hot.  Upstairs wasn’t really a place anyone but me or the dogs went to.  I ended up cleaning one of the rooms (just picking up the dog shit that had petrified and swatting at spiders) and sticking a fan in there that was promptly ruined due to the bad sockets.  I slept in there the final summer we lived with my dad.

My dad was a paranoid schizophrenic.  He was convinced that we were all going to move to Britain and become nobles or something.  He started talking in a fake British accent and so did I, because I spent a large majority of my time with my dad.  I had few to no friends and was constantly kicked out of school or refusing to go because of the bullying from everyone.  I hated being told I smelled bad and not being able to say it’s because our water heater broke, because that’s not an excuse.  No one could understand what I was trying to say.  THere was never any hot water.

I was bullied because I was fat.  The only real food I could eat was the junk food that didn’t really expire from sitting out, like chips.  Stuff that could be eaten in one sitting.  I couldn’t cook well.  This one time I was boiling hot dogs and twitched and it went all over my legs.

This is all I can write for right now.  I want to do a writing up of things as a catharsis thing.  I can’t right now.  I need to go do other things.

-The Sarcastic Autist

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