I was asked to post this by someone who wishes to remain anonymous. Out of respect for their privacy, I’m happy to respect their wishes and will not reveal their identity.
I’m no stranger to guest posts as I open my blog up to almost anyone that wants to share their story.
This one however, is unique in the sense that it’s a confession of sorts about this individuals personal struggle with being Autistic.
This isn’t an easy read and it will probably be upsetting to some. It’s also important to note that this is one Autistic individuals feelings and doesn’t necessarily represent the feelings of anyone else.
Having said that, I feel strongly that this is a very important message because if even one person feels this way, it’s one person too many.
Please leave your kind words of support in the comments below. Please keep any and all negative comments to yourself.
I hate me
I am an adult with autism and I have a confession to make.
I hate me.
I try my best to be the proud self advocate that everyone wants me to be. I write about how great autistics are or at least, can be, if given the chance. I share every inspiring and honest story about autism that I can find. And I try to be brave in front of everyone so that people can see that even me, with my autism, can be every bit as important as they can be.
But I have to be honest. It’s not easy for me to say but I really do hate me. I hate being me but that’s not what I mean. I mean, I hate me.
I have so few friends and I sit here wishing I had more of them or that I’d hear from them more often. Yet when the phone rings, I cringe. I hate the idea of having to talk to them. I hate having to hear “hi, how is it going?” one more time. I have to hold myself back when all I really want to say is “what do you want?”
There are things about relationships I’ll never understand. Like saying “I love you”. I get what it means and how important it is but why does it have to be said all the time? If I’m with someone for 10 years, and still with them after and still wanting to be with them for the rest of our years, shouldn’t they just know that by now? Why is it so bad that I’m not saying it every day? And sex in a relationship. I see it as being an over glorified massage. A really really great massage but other than feeling good, to me, has just as much importance. I enjoy it obviously but I don’t get why or how it’s important if you love each other with or without it anyway.And don’t bother trying to explain it to me. You’d be the 100th person and I still won’t get it.
I didn’t eat yesterday. Not because I have no food or no money but because I had no desire to go get any food. I was hungry but I just had no desire to get up. To go. To do anything. Eventually it was too late and I just went to bed.
I don’t take very good care of myself. I hate having to spend time every single day doing the exact same thing over and over again when I’m not going to be seeing anyone anyway. And if I do, I don’t look good anyway. And I hate how I look even more than they do so why am I bothering? I’m overweight and out of shape and I can’t stand it. But I won’t do anything about it.
I have zero will power. I have far more concentration and determination than anyone I know but zero will power. To eat better, go out for a walk, participate in something that’s for my own good, to just do anything! I can’t convince myself to do it. And if I do, I won’t do it a second time. I can not do something for the sake of doing it. At all. Ever. And it makes no sense to me. I want to do these things. I really do. But I can’t. I just can’t. I hate me.
I have every desire to read and learn and grow and be the smartest and best at what I do. I think about this over and over again while I have my face buried in a pillow, frustrated with myself because I’m not doing any of that. And when all of the time has passed that I could have been doing exactly that, I hate myself for letting another day slip by where I’ve accomplished nothing. Then I do it againtomorrow.
I talk to a psychiatrist. He doesn’t say anything. Why? Because I talk. I say to him “I know I’m supposed to just force myself to do it and then I’ll like it while I’m doing it. And I would. But I can’t anyway. And I wouldn’t do it again. And I know I should write down the things I hate about myself and then focus on one thing and come up with ways to change them individually. But I can’t. And I know that I should find things to do that interest me and find others with the same interest but I can’t. I’ve done all these things and more and yet, here I am.”And the psychiatrist listens. Because I’ve said all the things he was going to say. Because I’ve heard it all before. Because I know it all already. And here I am.
I don’t have friends. I want friends. When I had friends, I didn’t want to go to them. I didn’t want to talk to them. But I wanted them. Now I want friends. I hate me.I don’t have a life. I want a life. I want to do so much with my life but I don’t want to actually have to go and do it. I hate me.
I’m sitting here by myself and I’m supposed to be writing about how proud I am, how great I am, how misunderstood autistics are. And autistics are largely misunderstood. Still though, I hate me. And it’s not all autism’s fault. Most of this is just me being me. Which is why I hate me. I know what I need to do and yet I don’t do it. And I hate me even more for it.
I’m a self advocate and I don’t want you to think that all autistics are like me. I don’t want you to think that autism makes everyone hate themselves. But I hate me. I’ve always hated me. I think I always will. And I hate me even more for it.
I’m no one. I’m just one story. I don’t speak for anyone but me. But I’m a self advocate and this is me. And I hate it.
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