Happy December 1st!

There’s less than 31 days left of this hangover of a really crappy start to the new decade thanks to the pandemic!

This year has been the curse I thought would’ve happened in 2021 (the year that had “21” or “12”… being superstitious for a moment, I was born less than an hour before Friday March 13th, 25 years ago, so I felt the unluckiness as early as 12, later as a 21 year old, in 2012 was a really lousy year and 2021 was quiet, but 2022 was that “hangover” that I started with.

This year, I characterized it as “deflated”. I’d wake up with expectations (reasonable, not too lofty) to then expect the unexpected. You want to be stoked, you want to be happy, but someone else in your life (of which I will not identify) decides to go with their “feelings” and then conveniently  reschedules or pulls an unexpected to you.  Then you feel like what-the-fuck?

And this is a major source of my depression. The acceptance to not expecting anything as promised, or close to committed.

“You have to learn to be flexible” – Steven’s former high school case manager

It wasn’t just in high school either.. it goes back in time…

“Zigger-Zaggers” – “Doctor” Teresa Bolick  referring to unexpected situations as if an adult autistic later in life needs everything to be perfectly the same every freckin day

But in reality Zigger-Zaggers was a Seacoast Learning Collaborative thing… supposedly said phrase really in the psych-o-logy world was

“Zigger-Zaggle”

Allegedly.

Then the most infamous line that had been literally drilled to me like I am some militant type was Mrs. Lemiux, the infamous hack at South School…

“Go with the flow”

These flashpoints of trauma from being programmed as a perpetual child to later in early adulthood to be gaslit for choosing to be immature (are you fucking kidding me?) would just haunt me, and it could never end. There were mornings in 2022 not waking up to have some reasonable expectation that some appointed event would go as planned, whether it had to do with me directly or not. The iOS push screens of appointments changed and canceled had about a 3 to 1 ratio receiving the changes from the mother, not by me, and the latter ratio of cancelations and changes were out of my control. I typically do not cancel any appointments unless I am not feeling well in this COVID19 situation; or something that has importance that are justifiable, meaning I have to provide a constructive justification for the means, not because my male menstrual period said so.

I am so depressed, from the ups and downs, the spikes, like an EKG read. Life has ups and downs; it should be peaks and valleys, for most people,  that should be treatable and acceptable types of emotions, but violent up and down spikes from other people’s near-typical neurological state is not tolerable, because if it’s frowned upon an autistic, then it shouldn’t be OK for anyone else.

Two people told me this calendar year they would be walking on broken egg shells; ironically that phrase is such a cliche even in the narc world, because if you stepped on an eggshell the chances of getting infected with an eggshell is much less than broken glass, so can we just call it for what it is?

My depression has worsened since the start of the year, living in the expect the unexpected in the most literal way. In reality, it’s killing me inside. No one sees it.

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