Content Warning: This post deals with PTSD, I think.
Something is happening to me and I don’t understand what it is. It seems like almost everything I read or watch, all stories I take part of make me feel like my skin is being peeled off. All books I’ve tried to read the last couple of days have in some way conveyed vulnerability and it gives me such emotional flashbacks, even when it’s about situations far, far from my own experiences.
I’m all confused and I can’t talk about it because I have no words. Different themes are boiling together and flavouring each other and I want to cry but I can’t. It’s about fear and longing and mourning and feeling humiliated for what I once thought I could have. I want to seek comfort but I can’t and that was actually what I intended to write about, but my thoughts are too elusive.
I know that I can’t seek formal diagnosis or be openly autistic, I have to protect my child. I know that, but I don’t know for how long I can be silent in the closet. I’m living too much of my life as fake and I recognize this from before I came out as bisexual and before I confessed to my mom that I had an eating disorder. It feels like a part of me is dying every time I pretend. The frustrating thing is that even though I’m not openly autistic and it’s painful to pretend, I think I’m too open. I’m open with not being NT, about having ADHD and having other disabilities and that seems to be too much. I’m too open and still feel fake.
But I have to stay in the closet.
By the way, if you have figured out who I am, please let me know.