Torn Between Wanting To Die And Not Giving A Shit About Anything. Like, Theres So Much Going On Right

Torn between wanting to die and not giving a shit about anything. Like, there’s so much going on right now. Why don’t I care? Whatever, I guess.

For context, I’m not even sure if I’m with him anymore. Pretty sure he blocked my number after getting pissed off with me for… posting about being tired of being ignored. But he doesn’t know that this account exists, and I’m going to keep it that way. I blocked his number, too. Blocked his tumblr on my main.

I should care. I should be angry. Or sad. Or maybe I should feel relieved. But I don’t. Feel. Anything.

Wishing I had some wine right now (I’m allergic to wine but it’s tasty and makes the Bad Thoughts (TM) go away)

bpd is drinking wine, screaming, self h@rm!ng, masturbating, crying, dancing and punching walls all in the span of 30 minutes

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.

I know I’m falling into unhealthy habits again. Obsessively thinking about death. Wondering if anyone would actually miss me if I disappeared. I know I’d be missed by a few people. My mom, mostly. But she doesn’t really seem to notice me when I’m here or when I need help. My partner, but he’s been getting more and more distant lately. Feels like he’s trying to let me down slowly, if I’m being honest. And I get it. I’m not exactly a good person (I’m not even a person at all, actually). But the way he won’t even look me in the eye. His shortened responses when we text. I know I fell for him too fast and too hard. I always do. I know it’s probably my fault. It always is.

I just hate lying to him. Acting like I don’t know what’s going on. The other day, he asked me how work was (because I asked how his day was; he never texts first). I told him I was “a bit anxious, but I don’t know why. Probably burnout from work.” Bullshit. I had a fucking anxiety attack at work because I’m realizing just how little he cares about me. Just thinking about it now makes me nauseous.

My physical health is getting worse, too. I’ve always had chronic pain all over my body (not sure why; doctors are hard to find when you’re broke as fuck). Not to mention chronic fatigue (laziness, as far as everyone else is concerned).

And the world isn’t much better. Living in the U.S. is terrifying right now. Considering the number of people who want me dead or in prison for existing. The other day, I saw a post from a fellow trans person (who I will not mention the name of) saying that if trump wins, that person will off themselves. To be honest, that’s not a bad idea. If my right to exist is taken, I’ll die. It’s that simple. Live free or die, right?

I can feel myself slipping. Dissociating as a survival tactic. Becoming apathetic towards everything. It’s how I made it through the SA in my childhood. The blatant racism and sexism that my dad expressed. The neglect and abuse from both my parents and the medical industry. I’ve created a whole universe here in my mind. A world that isn’t safe or peaceful, but it’s mine to live in. A place where I can be me. I retreat there for most of my waking hours. I don’t know when I first created it, just that it’s pretty much always been there, and that it’s a part of me. The stories of each of my “characters” (pieces of myself) woven together into a chaotic, nightmarish, lawless world that only makes sense to my broken mind. But when I’m there, I’m safe. Nothing can hurt me there.

I’m not afraid to die. I’ve died before. Two past lives. That’s why my name is Roadkill, after all. My only fear is that I never get to live. That I’ll be forgotten. I don’t want to fade away. Is that too much to ask?