I’m sorry to write another miserable post just about me but I don’t have anyone to talk to. No one ever offers to listen to me and people rarely ask me how I am, so I go for long periods of time winding myself up and getting confused about what’s what. I’m sorry if this offends anyone. I thought writing it here might help me to think about things. And I do understand how asking me how I am isn’t simple: I’ll either lie because I’m afraid or I’ll say too much.
I’ve become unwell since Christmas. It’s become harder and harder for me to stay asleep at night and every morning I am not only tired but really thick and foggy and can’t rouse myself. As if heavily drugged, I’ve been falling back to sleep again when I should be seeing our youngest child off to school (fortunately her dad takes her) and having bad dreams.
When I do get up I’m fed up that the morning is half over and I can’t grasp any sort of meaning or sense of achievement from the day. I have managed to bounce back day after day, and every night I’ve told myself tomorrow is another day. I am a surprisingly optimistic person. But it keeps happening and I’m running out of bounce. It’s now 11am and I’ve done nothing. I still have to shower and get dressed – which takes me an hour. I can’t stand losing days. I don’t want to get up late. I don’t know how to achieve something positive today and move on, and that’s not like me. I just feel angry and helpless.
I’m also having to watch what I eat because I’m really prone to yeast infections – they rampage through my whole body – and I react badly to sugar. So I’m scared of food at the moment and going through hunger and then impulsive eating and getting headaches and itching in my inner ears.
I’m sitting on the bedroom floor not knowing whether to do yoga, have a shower or cry.
I hate this so much, and I know it’s all because I’ve pushed myself and not had restorative time or activities. The trouble is “me time” and restorative activities necessarily involve me not being there for everyone (sometimes for anyone) or taking part in “normal” life. They are time-consuming episodes.
It breaks my heart that I must put in so much more energy just to do ordinary, everyday things that others seem to do easily, and go for so long being big and brave and grown-up, and that no one knows how it stretches me and chips away at my health.
I want to do the things I do (and much, much more), I want to be all the things I am to all the people I care about. But it’s clear I can’t, and today this is making me so very sad.
Some autistic people are obviously autistic. Some of us hide it – too well, perhaps. And I’m not sure that’s always a good thing.
I know that suggesting no one offers me an ear is not entirely true and will come across as insensitive, but it’s important to realise the enormity of the feeling that comes with the sense of loneliness and desperation when this low hits. There is an overwhelming feeling that there really is nowhere to go, there really is no one to turn to, and life is a solitary battle. All my life I have internalised my struggles and never known who to tell what to.
But it is part of a pattern too: this will pass and I will become unwilling to talk. I am not in constant need of therapy or a shoulder to cry on and I am unwilling to be seen as such.
This is about me, not other people.