I'm exhausted, helpless

When I become exhausted, I become helpless, a word I do not use lightly.
My extended, necessary social interactions these past two weeks coupled with my current bout of physical illness, shingles, has left me temporarily incapacitated.
The simplest efforts, sitting up, brushing my teeth, speaking, etc, require herculean, pain effort.
I hate this.
Thus, I must be continually diligent in self monitoring my every day activities.
Did I mention I hate this?
Don't know when I'll be functional again.
Being autistic, in sensory overload and shutdown, f*cling sucks. No one can help me. I can't help my self.

Dissociation, Living in the Now

As a child, there wasn't a compelling reason for me to stay present, in my body, in the now.
I was miserable with being raped, tortured, sold, shared. My home life, outside of the sexual abuses consisted of hunger both physical and emotional, neglect, ridicule and lack of love. I couldnt find the pros of having a body at all, much less staying in it for hours at a time.
Happiness was a brief cloudburst, like when we would play on the swings at the playground far from home and untouchable. I always knew that positive feelings were fleeting little wisps. It would hurt to leave happy to go home. It was better to avoid the positive emotions all together as it would hurt worse returning to my reality of pain.
It hurt worse to visit and know the peace of paradise and then leave, than to deny all happiness exists. I stayed away from any feel good emotions as I saw them for what they were, freaky little cruel bits of cake in a world of moldy bread crusts.
I walked out, as much as possible, those erratic small feel goods.
I'd rather pretend that they didnt exist at all. It's like, you never miss candy if you've never tasted sugar kindof mentality.
So, somewhere locked away inside, I think, is my ability to feel happy and the thick wall that encloses it.
It's strange being me. Trust me

Safe is a pretty word

Safe is a pretty word; I've often admired it from afar. In all honest, I have no idea what it feels like. I'm longing to know it intimately; its breadth and depth. It's a feeling I've only dreamed of.
Yeah, therapy was one large emotionally cathartic event today.
To minimize, the first ten years of my life was one continuous danger zone. My psych split and fractured due to lack of any love, physical and emotional hunger and ongoing, unpredictable abuses. I've never really been a whole, singular being. Never.
I live a reactionary life whereby I continually react to the people and circumstances around me. This thing called "free will" is another pretty term that I have yet to experience. Mostly, I'm avoiding pain, stress, discomfort, unpredictability events and laying low. Like I'm in a batting cage, naked and without a bat and I move, twist, duck and jump to escape the onslaught on hurling projectiles.
I'm armor. I'm embedded behind walls and bunkers fighting my forever war.
PTSD makes me feel like everyone is a potential enemy. Autism makes me feel similar including environmental factors.
It's a constant onslaught. I spend considerable energy avoiding pain.
I have these inner rooms filled with boxes of memories, feelings and thoughts I was never allowed to share. I spend tons of energy just keeping my shit together so it doesn't all spill out at once, or in the wrong place or in front of the wrong person.
This is my war, Amy's war, aka, welcome to my life. I am fathoms from normal.
I'm often jealous and feel bad that others were and are loved. I can see it on their faces and it's in the spring of their walk. Can you imagine the first ten years of your life engrossed in pain and lacking any love?
It sucks. It hurts.
Thos first years have set the pattern I live and have lived, a reactionary, dark and gloomy life.
That I made it this far with being given such sparse external resources is nothing short of remarkable.
I'm different, ok. I'm just really, really different.

Aloneness the Depths of Sorrow

From cradle to grave, it's been an iron fist
I could not make or find anyone to love me for me, my greatest sorrow
I am the ink, in the pen, held within someone else's hand
Those who say they want to hear your pain, really don't, really can't fathom tho they may try
To be worlds away from the person sitting next to me
To feel more alone in a crowded room than at 3am
Who wants to hear despair, they cannot handle the moaning ferociously blasting tone.
My funeral will be a sparse affair, a blip on no ones radar, a single leaf blowing by in a storm.
Unmissed, unloved, just twas my life undone, unsung, and oh, so mighty unhappy for that I thank the cruelty of mom and dad for destroying me so thoroughly and well. Good job Sharon and Don, you done a very good job

One Snowflake Lost

I've always been one snowflake in a drift
Missing but never missed
Drowning, struggling with no rescuer round
A spinning top, unable to stop, violently thrusting out string with loop, unable to catch anyone, any thing to hold on to
I've always been;
Crossing the finish line with no one in the stands
Walking in the desert
A glass ornament within someone else's hand
Seeking that which I can never found
Could never find someone to love me
Unable to leave my shell far enough to try and catch a ray of dying sun
Born hungry, always to starve
Cruelty is cold empty arms that push you away
Getting trapped within for safety, blessed curse
I'm noone to anyone
Always and never

Moving to Oregon, Oh the things I have seen!!

I left my small northern Michigan town of 7,000 and moved to the city of Corvallis with about 56,000 inhabitants. I have seen many new, odd, quirky and disturbing sites.
Here's a brief rundown:
I no longer pump my own gas.
The "winters" consist of maybe a dusting of snow a few days. Schools close for this and drivers generally panic.
The summers consist of 30-60 day stretches of zero rain. Most people and businesses allow their lawns to go brown. This is the norm.
You have to pay 5 cents and ask for a bag if you don't bring your own reusable grocery bag to the store.
I've seen someone passed out, spread eagle, in the middle of a busy street. My neighbors assured me it was probably someone on drugs, not a vehicular accident.
I am regularly asked for spare change or money at grocery stores, the Post Office or whilst just walking down the street.
I've seen a homeless man sit down in a pedestrian walkway, in front of traffic.
The homeless are everywhere and regularly carry signs stating their plight or asking for money.
They have tents and campsites along the roadsides, in public parks, along the river and under the freeway.
I had one deranged woman start screaming obscenities at me when I refused to give her money.
There is a "fire season" that runs during the dry summer months. Its commonplace to see and smell smoke during this time.
Bikes and bicyclists are treated with respect and given the right of way.
Cars are required to stop at all crosswalks to allow pedestrians to cross.
The city bus system is completely free.
The cashiers are over friendly. It's common to be asked three questions while purchasing: How's your day going? Did you find everything you needed? And "do you have any plans for the evening (or weekend)?"
Buying pot is legal and you can smell people smoking and toking with regularity.
People walk, bike, ride scooters and skateboards a lot.
I once saw a homeless young man with a full-sized macaw parrot on his shoulder, walking in the rain, right next to the highway.
There was once a patron at the Post Office asking everyone to state what they were mailing. It was a game, apparently. I did not play.
White supremacist are common and it is good to keep your comments to yourself.
Religion is usually kept pretty private, hush-hush.
There isn't a lot of litter. And if there is, people pick up after one another.
It's been quite a cultural shock.

I am alone