hardwirecrybaby

[hardwirecrybaby]

You told me on my birthday that you were sorry.

Sorry that you couldn't model the kind of life I want. Sorry that you couldn't show me how to be social. Sorry a new facet of my world emerged, when I was maybe eleven or twelve, that has never been present in your world.

Sorry you threw that kettle at me.

I've been trying very hard not to stray into certain territory, when I think of you. How you parented. There is, after all, much worse out there. But how am I supposed to avoid it? When you say things like that? You were so unequipped. We both know it. And you tried so hard. I'm thankful for the choices you made that have benefited me- your choices around my education, my diet, my hobbies, things where you could be objective. You studied those things, and I think you came to good conclusions.

But there's always going to be a gap, isn't there? Things I needed that you could never have given me. I don't want to be harsh, but I think you, given your autism, were fundamentally incapable of providing a typically-developing child with the social and emotional support they need. Or, at least, you didn't have the resources to make yourself capable. None of the parenting books presented that information in a way you could parse; everything hinged on pillars of socialisation that are invisible to you. I wish we were more compatible. It seems like we just damaged each other for twenty years.

When I think back to my childhood, there's always a strange tension. You loved me, and insisted you loved me- but you'd flinch away from my touch and cover your ears when I spoke. Your natural behaviours reading as disinterest, even when you were happy with me. I could identify a faked smile before I could pronounce the words "flat affect".

I'm glad that you're sorry. I'm sorry too, that parenting was so painful for you, and that you felt so inadequate. It must be painful, to see strangers be the ones who made me thrive. I'm glad you could finally, finally, stop blaming me.

[hardwirecrybaby]

I don't understand how you can consider unmasking an ethical thing to do.

As far as I can tell, unmasking is a process by which an autistic person decides, for their own benefit, to place themselves outside the social construct and just Start Saying Shit. I want to believe this could be beneficial for anyone but the person in question, but... I'm living through it. It's difficult to imagine how this philosophy would work if adopted wildly.

I live with someone in the process of unmasking. I've watched them go from a little odd and quirky to someone who makes their cohabitants cry, either from insult or frustration, at least twice a week. Someone who will be upset with you for "misinterpreting" a thoughtless comment, tell you mid-sentence that you're boring and they want you to stop speaking, stomp their feet like a toddler and whine when you suggest they consider any needs but their own. This person is in their fifties.

It seems like "unmasking" just means "becoming uncompromising on everything you dislike". I'm not sure how anyone expects society to function if we all exist in a world where it's acceptable to break down crying because your kid put a different shape of spoon in the cutlery drawer. How are we supposed to address ANYONE'S needs if unmasking means losing all willingness to compromise? What does the version of the world where you can be comfortably unmasked look like? /Genq

[hardwirecrybaby]

I have lost all faith in you.

When you brought up my childhood sexual harassment- as a "funny" story, no less- I was horrified. Horrified that you would mention it, make a joke of it, speak to someone we've seen less than ten times about it.

It took me a while to work up the courage to ask you not to do that again. You said "oh, okay". You didn't apologise.

I had to talk to your spouse to get you to even say sorry. You were upset then, but I think you were more upset that I was mad at you than about your actual failure here. You said you "didn't think about what it meant to me" and to you, you "were just telling a funny story."

That's not reassuring. You know all of the worst things that have happened to me. My deepest secrets. And you're willing to spill them to acquaintances, because you "don't think about it". I can never trust you with ANYTHING. I never SHOULD HAVE trusted you with anything. In one moment, you've given me so much more to regret. I hate you. I'll never trust you again. And I can't do anything to make you see that.

It's driving me insane. I'm having stress nightmares about this guy who I hadn't thought about in years, and you're getting mad at me because the latch on my door makes noise when I get up to cry in the bathroom. I don't know what I can do to make you understand. Seeing your face makes me angry.

[hardwirecrybaby]

on the day i moved in i was exhuasted. I slept in the van, i slept on the sofa. in the van you kept waking me up to listen to your music, even when i was nodding off on your shoulder. When we got home you insisted, peicemeal, that I move every box up by myself.

So you could clean, you said. because people were coming. In seven days.

I kept articulating it over and over. I'm too tired. In so many ways. When you finally backed me into the corner of "I'm so tired, I don't want to move everything up today. I don't think I can." you insisted i move at least half of it, and the rest tomorrow. everyone else in the house thought this was insane.

You didn't offer to help.

[hardwirecrybaby]

I think probably living with someone like you is the worst thing I could have done to myself, being chronically ill. Your autism makes you incompatible with it. You don't understand pain as it exists in other people, and that's infuriating to me- I could be standing there sobbing in agony (I have been) and you would just do the same thing you always do, mouth agape, dumb-fish-blinking. You're always stunned when the world doesn't bend to your will. You don't care if I'm tired, if I'm hurting, if it's the dishes or my ability to write or eat- it just doesn't matter to you. You can't put it into your calculations. I've been here a week and I want to leave so badly.