This is a long post, so feel free to skip it. Really, I was just writing for my own sake after getting angry.
Yesterday my nieces went shopping (against their will) with my mother. Apparently she told them that they're becoming too much like me. I usually let that kind of thing slide, but it bothered me this time. So, I ended up writing about why it bothered me.
TL;DR I realized that I am how I am because my parents failed me as a child. And I told the the girls as much, adding that if they have a fraction of the strength that I had to find, they were damned lucky to be like me.
The longer form that follows is what I wrote after that. It was mainly therapeutic, getting it out in some form. But I thought, what the hell, I'll share it with my SG family. Apologies if it's a bit stream of consciousness, it was really meant just for me.
You know, I had always wanted to kill myself, or just to passively die. I don't remember a time in my life where I wanted to be alive. I lived my life for 37 god forsaken years thinking that was normal. I know, I know… in what world is that kind of death wish normal? But that was just who I was, and what I felt was normal. I never once felt alive in my life. I was always just going through the motions, trying to be like everyone else. I thought that must be the way, right? Fake it till you make it. I think that's the saying. I think I honestly believed that it would work. I watched as other people my age found careers, got married, started lives. But no matter how much I tried to be 'normal', it just never happened for me.
The more I think about it, the more it's just… I wanted to be dead. How the fuck did I survive until now?
I'm realizing now as well, that my parents failed me. It's our job as adults, I include myself in this because I'm helping raise my brother's kids, to make sure that children are taken care of. That doesn't just mean providing for them to survive in a physical sense. It includes helping them understand their emotions, it includes keeping track of their mental health, and so much more than just providing food and shelter. And for me to have taken 37 years of my life to finally decide that I want to go on living… to decide that suicide was never the right answer… it's a monumental failure on the part of my parents. No, it's more than that. Failure implies that that failed to provide. It doesn't address the decades of gaslighting. It doesn't address being made to feel like I'm doing something wrong by trying to be myself. They didn't just fail me, they helped push me down, they helped create a suicidal monster. I was Frankenstein's creation. They brought me to life, and then proceeded to treat me like I was inhuman. They abandoned me to effectively raise myself.
I thought I understood, and that I forgave them. I was wrong. Yes, they had to work long hours to provide for us. I will always be grateful for that. Our situation could have been much worse than it was. But in reality, I still don't understand why. Why did they treat me the way that they did? Being tired isn't a good enough excuse when you're a parent. Especially when your child is suffering. How many middle school kids did you know who genuinely wanted to die? I'm not sure that I ever really can forgive them. If they had done their job as parents, I would have been diagnosed as a child. We would have known that I was autistic, that my needs were different, that my brain was different… but also that it was not broken.
Somehow, I managed to push forward. Even after all of those miserable years. Even after repeated close calls with suicide. I still have a scar on my wrist from one such attempt.
I was high masking. I felt the toll that it was taking on me, but never understood what was causing it.
Then came Pilz-e. That wonderful little cat man helped me through this sorry excuse for a life for 16 years. I don't think I would have done much in this life without him. That cat helped me so much. And I never realized it until it was too late.
The high masking survival went on for as long as it could have, but then I hit a wall. Hard. Pilz-e's death took me at an extremely high speed, right into a fucking wall. And for almost two years of barely functioning, I started to recover.
I learned about myself. Not about the person I was pretending to be, but about myself. I'm autistic, and after years of masking, burnout hit me fucking hard. All of it was brought about by the loss of my cat. And I'll forever be grateful to him for that final gift. He led me to this important discovery. And in turn, to another revelation I had ignored for decades.
I need spirituality in my life. And if I hadn't crashed the way that I did after Pilz-e died, I don't think I would have ever been in the right space to acknowledge that. I know a lot of people distrust religion, or have some kind of religious trauma. But I'm not talking about religion, I'm talking about spirituality. I don't worship at a church, with a congregation. It's something that I do alone. It's between my deity and myself.
Now, if someone is interested, I'll talk about it. But I'm not about to go around trying to convert people.
