This is an unabashedly emo post. If I have, in the past, come across as self-indulgently self-pitting, childishly naive, self absorbed, a buzz kill – this post will most assuredly have you rolling your eyes. And that’s ok, of course. Sometimes our story isn’t meant for most people. I cannot deny that I am, to some degree, all the things described above. Still, it is the times when people write and talk about their pain that I personally feel the most seen. If you have ever felt that about my writing in the past, this may be for you.
———-
I think about the experiment where the researchers had the subject put his hand through a wall, while sitting at a table. Then, the experimenters made it look like his hand got stabbed. Obviously, he jerked his hand out. Understandably, he didn’t want to put his hand back in.
–
–
“You are searching for connection, a hand to hold yours. It’s on the other side of that wall.”
“You know I’m constantly getting stabbed, right? Like, the fake-outs are one thing, but my hand is torn to shreds.”
“We’ve bandaged that up. And besides, a lot of those ‘fake outs’ were misunderstandings. Listen, it’s not like when you were a kid, ok? Don’t hold your mom’s abuse over everyone else’s head. I mean, you usually just get nothing, or pushed away with no harm done. It’s not that bad. How often are you actually stabbed, like STABBED stabbed?”
“Enough. It still hurts. My nervous system is run ragged. My body pays the price, one way or another.”
“What do you want me to say? You have to risk it, and you have to do it while you are kind of ok. If you don’t, you will have no one in those dark nightmare times. It’s dangerous.”
“So is this.”
“…..Do you even want to be happy? You know every single person has to fight for it, right? Everyone has struggles.”
“I don’t know, do I? You tell me. Look in your crystal ball, look in my heart, tell me what I should want and how it’s going to end. ‘Be grateful! You’ll regret missing the sunrise that’s sure to come! Life is a blessing!’ Would it make you happy, if I conformed to that narrative? Is my pain inconvenient, would an ending I get to choose make you feel guilty? Do I get a say?”
“Ultimately, yeah, of course, you have that choice. I’m just trying to help. This is how it is, and reframing is all you can do. Fortunently, you’re a coward. You are terrified of hurting people, morally failing people. You’ll keep living because it’s what you’re supposed to do. That part of your trauma works in your favor.”
.
“Yeah.”
–
–
This is the everyday, constant experience I have as someone fat and autistic. It doesn’t matter how kind you are, how bright you are, whether you are quiet and unobtrusive, or lighthearted and friendly. If you are a friction in people’s lives, you are not worth their time. Empathy takes effort, and what good are you to me? I hate the way you look, and don’t understand the way you think. Go be weird somewhere else.
–
–
If you hate the nasty comments, get off the couch and fix it. Ever heard of exercise? Ugh, not where I can see it, though. No one needs to see that. Find somewhere no one has to look at you.
If people see you eating cake and your fat, obviously they are gonna think a certain way. Eat a salad, show people you are trying. If you wanna eat like a fatass, find somewhere no one has to look at you.
Look at how you squeeze into chairs, look at how you take up the aisles in grocery stores. Look at you struggle to tie your shoes, how you huff and puff and breath so loud. Disgusting. Find somewhere no one has to look at you.
I’d never get that bad. God, I’d feel like a monster, I’d never leave the house if I looked like you. How lazy can you be, to let it get that bad? You think this is ok? People like you need to get shit on, so you actually change. Doctors shouldn’t have to deal with this, you did this to yourself and you can fix it. If you don’t wanna face the truth, find somewhere no one has to look at you.
–
–
Ask anyone who has lost a significant amount of weight. They will tell you it is an objective, night and day difference how they are treated.
Tell me I’m pretty, and I’ll tell you how I’ve never been approached by a man once in my life. It’s ok, I’m pretty on the inside. I just hate to be lied to.
–
–
“There is a hand on the other side, I promise. 8 billion people, there are plenty of people who would love you. Focus on the positive!”
I just want to let myself be angry. I want to be upset at people who have mistreated me, judged me, never once tried to meet me half way. I want to be able to say that life has not been easy, without sounding entitled and whiny and ungrateful. Two things can be true at once. I have a supportive father and material security, I have very few obligations, and almost infinite freedom. But my social isolation is not entirely my own doing, or from a lack of trying. That loneliness is an oppressive, gnawing darkness that shrouds an otherwise profoundly fortunate life. I want to release the guilt I have for my resentment, and just feel it. I want to feel ungrateful and bitter, if just for a moment. I want to hold myself and say, “you are severely unappreciated, despite how you try. Your frustration and fatigue is valid, no matter what anyone else thinks. Let them think you should try harder. Just let them.”
>>robyns_ramblings 