I’ve been depressed. I’ve been more depressed than I have been in years. By that, I mean I’ve been suicidally depressed. I have no plans to actually kill myself and I don’t want to kill myself. I enjoy being alive for the most part. I just hate myself and wish I was dead so I wouldn’t have to deal with the shit stain that is my life.
I started going to that gender therapist a few weeks back. The first thing I noticed was the vulva pillow. More on that later. I’ve been trying to be more accepting of myself as I am, Enby and all. It’s not been working. I hate it. I hate being gay and I hate not being a cisgendered person. I have no problem with other gay or trans people, just me. Internalized homophobia and trans-phobia, probably. Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.
Charon wanted me to call about getting a case worker/social worker last week so I did. Something you guys should know about the county I live in is that it sucks hardcore, especially for adults with special needs. This is the same county that, when I finally opened up about my mum being abusive, told me that there’s nothing they could do for me. Nothing to help me. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Such fucking bullshit. Anyway, they told me what I expected. There was nothing they could help me with except maybe pawning me off on someone else. Assholes.
It’s just… I’m at the end of my rope here. My mum used to wake up an hour later and so I would plan my day around having time to myself in the mornings and now her alarm goes off at 7:20ish instead of 8:30 and it’s frustrating for me because she’s always home and I hate that I don’t get alone time. Ever. Because she’s always here.
I don’t like that I feel like I’m fat all the time. I look in the mirror and I see this fucked up fat chick when I don’t even want to be a chick. Nothing about me is right. I hate myself. I don’t even have the smallest iota of self-respect half the time.
Kuma-chan told me the other day that when I told her that it’s okay if she doesn’t get my pronouns right because no one does, she got really sad. And her telling me that made me realize that if I don’t respect myself, no one will respect me. And you don’t have to like someone to respect them. (I think that will be a huge help as I struggle to do so). So I’m trying to be more assertive and firm about it when talking to people, especially my mum because she is the worst offender.
I have a lot of “If I wasn’t so…” statements running through my head. “If I wasn’t so fat…” “If I wasn’t so autistic…” “If I wasn’t so fucked up in the gender department…” “If I wasn’t so stupid…” And so on and so forth. The endings are variable. “People would love me.” “I’d be more attractive.” “My parents would be more accepting of me.” “I would be able to live a normal, happy life that was worth living.”
Mind, I’m perfectly aware that these are all Drop Bear Statements, completely false thoughts fueled by my depression and lack of self-worth. And I just don’t think I care.
I do want to say that I don’t want to kill myself and I don’t want to die. I had known I’d been depressed for a few weeks, it was just the other day when I was staring at one of my medicine bottles and had the sudden urge to overdose that I went “oh, well that’s not good.” I’m at a loss of what to do. I see my psychiatrist in a couple weeks so I don’t want to bump up my appointment because that seems silly to me. I don’t want to bother Charon since I see her on Monday anyway and I’m not at an actual risk of trying anything.
I guess the biggest thing for me right now isn’t the suicidal thoughts and feelings, it’s the urge and need to cut or purge or do something harmful/painful to myself because I need physical feedback that I’m alive and my pain is real. I don’t know if it’s autism that makes me need that or if I’m just fucking crazy. Whenever my emotions get too big, be it happiness or sadness or anxiety or inspiration, I have a need to do something physical to/with my body. Happiness I tend to jump up and down and do that happy clapping or arm movement. Sadness I want to cut or hit my head against things. Anxiety I tap on my collar bone. Inspiration I write and rub my wrists on things. I rub my wrists on things or bang them on things when I have negative emotions too, just more rubbing when I’m inspired.
I guess it’s also the feeling of being completely alone that bothers me. The feeling that this is how it is and this is how it will always be and no one can help me. No one wants to help me.
Telling myself that depression lies only gets me so far. Depression lies. Depression lies. Depression lies. Except, I also know that most lies have some kernel of truth. What is the lie and what is the truth? Where is the reality?
True Reality is based on facts and can be affirmed by other people.
My reality right now is that depression lies, but it whispers small truths within them.
I need help and I don’t know how to ask for it.
I don’t even know if I’m worth it anymore.
-The Sarcastic Autist