It seems to me that neurotypical humans have decided that autism an affliction. To be different is a sin, that’s the subtext I receive, even though I don’t believe in sins or God. It’s just plain wrong. But why? Why is it wrong to be different? Can’t I lend a different perspective to the world as we know it?
One thing I do not do naturally anymore is avoiding eye contact. I used to because I am shy. I was shy, maybe I’m not anymore. I always felt like the world ran on rules I never understood, no matter how long I paid attention or observed them. That is, until I’d absorbed enough culture to actually figure it out. Like a code cracker, I took breadcrumbs from cinema, literature, cartoons, and human interactions I’ve personally experienced, and I figured it all out.
But not before I was raped. I had no chance, actually. People don’t tell you to kick and scream and punch and yell RAPE! when you’re experiencing something you’re not interested in experiencing. Instead, delicate little flowers such as myself tremble and wish the other person understood the boundaries they were treading over because they violate all my natural boundaries as an autistic person already. I’m not like them; they refuse to understand me. My whole life has been about being raped. I beg them to stop but they never do.
I don’t even care anymore if it’s sexual in nature. I’ve decided everything done to me without my consent is rape. That is not to say I’m not beholden to society’s laws and I should not comply if I do something in the wrong. I absolutely should. I speak of normal social situations where people steam roll me into complacency to get whatever they want, like Psycho Boy Ben.
I can’t even do my taxes right now. I’m too anxious about it. I lost my job and sold stock and I am aware that all I have to do is pay the taxes, but I fret and worry and now I’m stressed out because I didn’t already do them. I should have given myself more time. I would have, if I was myself. However, I have an entity residing inside of me, alongside of me, forcing me to do things the way Psycho Boy Ben does them. Ben waits until the very last minute to do anything and everything, including cleaning his gutters. The boy had trees growing in his gutters the last time I saw his home. That’s extreme procrastination and that cannot be good for anyone, not to mention I bet his foundation is messed up from the literal waterfall he has in front of his living room window every time it rains.
He’s so smart yet so dumb. That one thing is causing his foundation to rot, whether it’s already happened or not is irrelevant. Anyone who does gutter work will tell you how important it is to divert water away from the foundation. Anyone who does inspections will tell you, too. He’s ruining his property in hoity toity Suburbia because he refuses to believe I could be right about this problem he’s having. I know I’m right: mold grows in his microwave every three days after he uses it. That is not normal, I assure you.
Yet, I am willing to bet it’s still like that. I’m willing to bet he’ll tell anyone who’ll listen it’s my fault because once upon a time, I volunteered to clean them (like five years ago…) and then I told him maybe three months later that I can’t get the energy together to do it, he should hire someone. I informed him I changed my mind because I didn’t have the gumption… nor did I trust him to hold a fucking ladder for me, to be perfectly honest. He just seems… weird. Like psychopathic weird.
I tried so hard to reach that man emotionally. I remember crying for something like two hours while I was having a nervous breakdown thanks to him telling me sweet, sweet lies, and then breaking them a week later. He literally said to me, ‘You are enough.’ Doesn’t that sound like it’s gone exclusive? Later, a therapist shamed me: ‘Why did you think he decided to go exclusive?’ Wouldn’t you? If a man you were dating told you that you are enough, wouldn’t you think they really meant it?
He didn’t mean it. He later told me that he meant I was enough in bed. I scolded him. I told him never to say those words to another human being ever again unless he truly meant them. If there was more to say, just fucking say it. Tell the fucking truth, it goes a lot further than a lie that breaks down and ultimately breaks me.
I didn’t know it, but it was a trigger topic. It made me realize this was a pattern in my entire life. That everyone around me flat out told me I was not enough or implied it beyond shadow of a doubt, at least that’s what it seemed like in my little autistic mind. I went down a rabbit hole of memory after memory where every single person in my life told me I was not enough. That’s why I cried for hours. I laid there, naked, on the shower floor because I was a blubbering mess and blowing my nose every two minutes was burdensome. Tears streamed down my face, sobs wracked my person.
What did Psycho Boy Ben do?
Nothing. He stayed in bed the whole time. And then, when I finally stopped crying and I cleaned myself up, and I put myself back into bed… he just acted like it never happened. This man caused me to have a nervous breakdown in his bedroom and bathroom but nothing happened, y’all! Not one fucking thing just happened. Nothing! There was nothing to address whatsoever.
I wish I could say that was the only time I cried and he did nothing, but it wasn’t. He said much later that he was afraid, that he didn’t know what to do, et cetera. Does any real human being let the woman he’s fucking cry for two hours on his shower floor, not knowing what to do? The only thing he could have done to make it any worse was ask me to leave. How dare I have emotions!
This man is an ostrich in people clothing. Anything inconvenient on the horizon? QUICK! BURY YOUR HEAD IN THE SAND! And then afterward, lie about it. Lie about how you just don’t give two shits about the girl at all, lie and say you are afraid. After dating that nincompoop for 4.5 years, I still don’t know what he’s afraid of. So let me clue you in: it’s a lie. He’s not afraid of anything. He’s a privileged white male who can get away with murder and pay someone to look the other way.
As I was leaving this dickhead, as I was on my way to moving out for good… finally… after I went through Hell thirty times over and finally undid my trauma bond to him somehow, or ignored it at all expenses to get away… he dared to tell me I was the one who got away. He tried to hold me accountable for wrongdoings when he raped me from spring 2018 until Thanksgiving 2019. I did not consent with laying underneath him for over an entire year. Every night. And I am willing to bet my final dollar that he knew it was wrong by the time I left. He knew it was wrong before even a year had gone by!
He blamed me for everything, too. We had a breakup around that time and something very sexual happened shortly afterward that put us back together. But it was all my fault it happened, wouldn’t you know. Like he wasn’t there himself, playing a part in it. He makes it sound like I raped him, which I assure you I did not do. He makes it out like I’m a venomous snake out to get him, ready to strike any moment. I think he’s very confused. The only snake I associate with is the one tattooed on my upper left bicep.
Why a snake? So many people have asked. I’ll tell you all about it, actually.
Let me first describe my tattoo in complete detail. There is a grass green snake, coiled upon itself (sort of) with an orange and baby blue daichi in its mouth. (A daichi is the yin/yang symbol for those of you who don’t know. It may also be spelled taichi, depending on translation.) Each of the dots is a butterfly. And then, the artist threw in an artistic crown for ‘balance.’ (Really, I think he just wanted to add his own flair so he wasn’t just re-imagining my design without any of his own input.) The crown is black & skin-colored and the belly of the snake is skin-colored.
This represents my perception of life. The daichi is the symbol of the natural balance of all things. Just as they say everything has an equal and opposite reaction, I could argue that everything has an opposite in general. There is a duality in all things as we all live and die. The butterflies represent metamorphosis, change, et cetera. The snake is the symbol of the healer in Native American lore, and it is so because it sheds its skin and seems to renew itself in doing so. As such, the snake is also a symbol of life. You might be familiar with the twin snakes called ‘caduceus‘ being used in the field of medicine. The crown is just a crown, it is meaningless to me outside of compromising with the talented man who put it on my arm.
So, in short, the balance of nature hangs in the jaws of life and leads to metamorphosis in our fight to survive it all. We have no control over nature, not truly. There will be cataclysmic events some day and we will have to respond to that, no matter how far we advance.
For those of you who have never gotten a tattoo and say, ‘That must hurt!’ It hurt the most over the least muscular part of my arm. The part that is over my bicep only was painful but tolerable. Once it got to the tricep area, it became quite poignant. I could not ignore it, but I suffered it in pure silence anyway because that’s how I am.
The snake is because I am a healer. I have been all my life. I feel that is my function in this world. I have sensed a rift that needs healing: the rift in humanity regarding consent and lack thereof. The rift in how we speak to each other. We are being divided further and further as people hijack psychology to try to turn us against each other. It doesn’t matter who does it, it’s everywhere. Literally everywhere. It’s even in advertisements. Every advertisement is designed to make you feel something or to make you want to buy something. If they keep you inside your emotions about things, you are their victim. They are doing this without your consent. You don’t even know it’s happening, probably.
So here is my thirty day challenge to you: stop listening to commercials. Put CDs in your car and listen to them, or get a Sirius subscription for just one month. Put down the remote — go to Netflix or Hulu (paid) or any paid service without ads. Put down the social media, the greatest offender for advertisements. Avoid it all at all costs.
Here’s what happened when I did it:
I stopped craving fast food altogether.
I stopped feeling so negative about myself in general. I was no longer getting shame heaped on me by all that medical mumbo jumbo bull shit.
I stopped wanting to buy things I didn’t need. You know how addictive it is; they told you that you need it! (You don’t.) My biggest weakness is kitchen gadgets these days.
I stopped hearing negative news sound bites, which improved my mood immensely. Did you know if there is news big enough, you will hear about it second-hand? You don’t have to listen or watch the news to know what’s going on. Someone will inevitably post it to social media or talk about it at your work place.
I stopped wanting to hear advertisements because it became apparent they were a waste of my time.
I suppose I should make my blog advertisement free, but that takes money. If you want to help support me in this endeavor, well, that’d be awesome. You can, if you wish to.