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I wonder if autism is actually isolating, or if it just makes you notice how isolating the human experience is.

Sometimes I feel like I'm interacting with people through translucent plastic. But aren't we all trying to work through several layers? Like we're trying to communicate our emotions through the filters of language, body movement, facial expression, and a whole pile of social expectations. Is it harder for me, as someone with autism, or is it just that I'm seeing the layers? Am I more misunderstood than anyone else, or do allistic people just have an easier time assuming that they've been understood?

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I think what I need is for a powerful psychic to mind meld with me and then tell me I’m fine, maybe a little weird, but not fucked up or anything

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I just assume cheaters would have failed the marshmallow test as children

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Socratic Method? You mean autism?

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Breakup hurts the most?

But Have you ever sat with a group of friends knowing that you're the least favourite & it wouldn't matter of you're there or not.

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Not to state the obvious and say what we’re all thinking, but personality tests are definitely a capitalist psy op designed to make us view ourselves the same way CEOs do, as literal human resources, reproducible and replaceable cogs in the machine, am I right?

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I know my emotions are lying, but can they say something other than “you are totally alone”?

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"oh you're bi too? haha attracted to every woman and five men amiright" don't put words in my mouth. don't put your baggage on me. if you saw the men i wanted to fuck you'd hurl.

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I think of my brain as a little gremlin that hands me thoughts that I then have to interpret

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Writing fiction is fun because sometimes you’re living out a cool setting or action scene in your head or just vibing with the characters you made and sometimes you’re reaching one hand deep into your throat and grabbing hold of something oily and writhing then pulling (its roots are so deep) and pulling harder (it tries to wriggle out of your hands) until it comes a little loose (some of the branches break off because you’ll never get all of it) and shifts (the holes it left behind feel injured and empty and worse even if they can now get better) until the wriggling black mess comes free and you throw it onto the page and show it to people in the hopes that they can tell you what it is

(sometimes they give it a name)

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Sometimes

When things have seemed calm and quiet and normal for a while

I feel like I am okay.

And then sometimes

She rips the scab off

And I bleed

And bleed

And bleed

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Reading about IRL spies is the best. Every book is like “he was History’s Greatest Maniac and a paragon of virtue. Simultaneously the best and worst person who ever lived. He destroyed the whole world and I love him.”

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I missed the first day of Kindergarten, so I never learned the Secret way to move your face so that people believe you mean the things you say

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All I wanna do is drag everyone I know into interrogation rooms, dose them with truth serum, and question them in detail about what they really think of me, is that so hard to ask?

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The thing I miss most about university isn’t the time off between semesters but the full reset that comes with it. Forgot an assignment? Doesn’t matter. Didn’t get along with one of your classmates? They’re gone. Your understanding of some concept was a bit shaky? Fuck it, you did good enough. It was like blowing the cobwebs out of your brain. Now if I get busy and am forced to put something on the back burner, it stays there, building onto this ever-growing list of things I would attend to if there was time. The only reset I get is if I quit and go somewhere else, beginning the cycle again. I really want to blow the cobwebs out of my brain.

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Do you ever feel like it would fix a lot of things in your brain if you felt truly understood by a single person?