My Schedule:

My schedule:

Wake up.

Choke down breakfast.

Go to work, kill my body while at work.

Go home.

Dissociate (listen to “Life Waster” by CORPSE on repeat for a few hours).

Sleep (optional, probably cry self to sleep).

Repeat until inevitable death.

The one thing you can’t take from me is the fact that I don’t care about you anymore. I’ll dissociate my life away. I’m apathetic. I’ll say it over and over until it comes true.

I refuse to miss you. I refuse to feel bad about this. I refuse to want you back. I refuse to shed a single fucking tear for you. You make me want to die, but I won’t give you the satisfaction of making me spill a fucking drop of blood for you. I’ll live. Out of spite.

So what if I die alone? Everyone dies alone, if you really think about it. I’ve already accepted the fact that I’m inevitably going to die. I accepted that reality when I was just a kid. We all die alone. Maybe it’s better that way.

If you know the context behind this, fuck off. I’m done. Good luck finding someone who puts up with your bullshit. Treat me like shit when you’re off your meds, make me genuinely concerned for the safety of both of us. I can’t take this shit. Sure, I did everything wrong, too, but at least I don’t take it out on other people.

Working at a place that specifically hires autistic people. Sounds great in theory, right? WRONG. They treat me like a child. I know that autism is a spectrum, but apparently the higher-ups of my job don’t get that? I’m an adult. Sure, I’m an immature fuck-up of an adult, but, like, shut the fuck up. I’m gonna be 20 in a month. You don’t get to talk down to me when I know I’m smarter than you. Not trying to sound like an asshole, but I know for a fact that I’m smarter than the people in charge here. Been working here a few months now, and I’ve thought of so many ways that this place could be run more efficiently. They treat me like a lazy child because I don’t put 100% of my energy into my work anymore. Well, the last time I did that, I had to go to the ER for heat exhaustion. This building has no windows, no ventilation, and no air conditioning. Just two poorly placed fans that aren’t on half the time. And machines that get over 400 degrees Fahrenheit. I’m more sensitive to heat than most people. I know that. But that’s no excuse.

Honestly can’t tell if they treat me like shit because I’m visibly tired and in pain all the time, because I’m on a different part of the spectrum than my coworkers, because I’ve got ADHD as well as autism, or because I’m trans and they view me as a fragile little girl. Yeah, I’m fucked up physically and mentally. That doesn’t make me weak. The fact I still show up here and get more done in an hour than my better-paid coworkers do in a week ought to make it pretty fucking obvious that I’m good at my job.

I have nothing against my coworkers, by the way. I understand that it’s a spectrum. It’s the people further above me. The neurotypical ones who think we’re all the same.

Hate it when my coworkers ask me how I’m doing. Like, fuck off. You don’t want an answer. You want an “I’m doing alright, how are you?” which is a fucking lie and makes me feel bad for being a liar. But you don’t want the truth. And when I tell you, you look at me like I’m the crazy one here for… *checks notes* being honest? If you didn’t want me to say, “I can’t tell if I wanna die, cut myself, try to get high off my meds, quit this job and disappear, or just go to sleep,” then you shouldn’t have fucking asked.

Also, loving how whenever my mood gets bad, my pain gets worse, and the other way around. It’s a cycle that I can’t escape from and all I wanna do is sleep all day. But I have fucking insomnia.

I feel like there are two types of people I could theoretically be in a relationship with. Someone who’s emotionally stable would be ideal, but let’s face it, such a person doesn’t exist. So I need someone who’s just as fucked up as me. Sure, it would be a nightmare and we’d kill each other, but it would be fun for like a week, and I already feel like I’m dying all the time.