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yuusanity · 26 days

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Dissociation, code-switching, masking, auto-pilot, pretending.

What other terms are there? I haven’t been feeling like myself, and it feels like Im watching someone in my body. I hate it.

I have periods in my life where Im conscious but not fully conscious, as I go on with my life. It can last for weeks, months, or even years. The longest duration this has occurred was when I was a kid. When I reached 3rd grade, I was isolated and bullied. Not too bad, maybe, in comparison to others. But it still scared me out of my wits. Without realizing it, I started smiling more, without any real reason to, without any real connection with what I was really feeling at the moment. Maybe it is because Im autistic, but Ive always been told Im bad at showing my emotions. Too strong or too mild. My uncanny upbringing didn’t help either. It was one of the primary reasons I was bullied.

Then something clicked. I don’t remember the exact thought process anymore. But at some point I just started observing and copying how others acted, and exaggerated my reactions to make it seem like Im normal. I was constantly on edge. Trying to be ahead with how people think, so I can act like how they would expect me to. It worked. It protected me. I didn’t end up completely isolated anymore.

But as with any autistic person when code-switching. They reach a breaking point when they do it too frequently, for too long. On my second time taking 6th grade. I started having frequent panic attacks. And with the intensity and frequency of those panic attacks I started dissociating. Having frequent meltdowns. I couldn’t keep up my mask. Everyone could see that Im just some depressed autistic kid trying to pretend to be normal, and failing miserably at it. Of course not everyone was understanding, despite the number of friends I made, I had a ton of bad moments in that year. Complete meltdowns, kids singling me out, spontaneous panic attacks from the overstimulation. I had so much breakdowns in front of the kids in my same class that they just started to ignore me when I’d lose all vocabulary and start shaking.

Its hell. The breaking point for these moments of being in autopilot or pretend was painful. I grew fearful of the next meltdown, the next panic attack, the next time I’d break my mask. But I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t fail another year, so I tried to keep up that mask and.

I still don’t know if what I did was the right choice, or if there ever even was a right option, or if there was even any other option in the first place.

I never learned how to regulate my emotions. And even now, as an adult, there are times where Id start to get too giddy like a child, or react too little, start slipping into auto-pilot, and start pushing myself over my own limits.

I pretend so much that I cant even tell if Im pretending. And I’ll only realize when Im at my breaking point. Like this one.

Im sorry. I don’t mean all the bad things I said. I was running my mouth and reciting a script that I assumed was correct at the moment.

Im sorry for deceiving you. It wasn’t all fake. But I don’t know where the real parts starts either.

Im sorry, please forgive me. I’ll fix myself, I promise, I’ll act better, I’ll be better. I

I don’t know

I’ll do whatever. Just please don’t hate me.

I cant say all of this to the people in my life, or it will ruin everything. Thats why Im saying it here.

I need to make myself disappear. I don’t know what’s going on with me, I don’t want to find out. God. I want to die so bad right now.

I’ll disappear for now and stop being everybody’s problem. I’ll come back when Im normal again. Please don’t hate me.

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yuusanity · 1 month

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About the person I am.

I haven’t had much reprieve lately from my attempts to put my life back together. And I guess it had been taking a toll on me. A while ago I had counted 2 years had passed since I had dropped out, but the correct duration was actually just 1 year. But I had indeed wasted 2 academic years, putting me at a grand total of 3 years behind in my academics.

Im currently 19, turning 20 soon, the age my mom was when she had me. And it’s been fucking me up. I feel so left behind and useless. And I know I can only blame myself. Although I did try my best for the past few years, and the things that caused my life to ripple out of control was far from being my fault. It is still my fault for letting it stay this way for so long. For setting myself up to be a nobody. If I had only been normal and never dropped out, I would have been on my last year of college right now. My mom was working up towards her dreams at my age, while also attending university. And although she ultimately had to give up all she had for me and my brother’s sake. She was far from being a failure like me.

I’m far from being the person I wish I was. I had long since forgotten who I really was. Im an extremely angry, and bitter person. The gifted and silent kid I was, is all gone. Replaced by a stranger I don’t know, an invalid whose only talent is somehow finding ways to appear not present in the moment, despite being there.

Im far from becoming the person I am currently wishing to be. And I know that it is nothing but a pipe dream. A product of my maladaptive daydreaming, an over exaggeration of my coping mechanisms. It’s painful to put it that way, but I have to kill that dream-me early. Before it kills me. I don’t deserve to be in the position I dream to be in. Nor do I have any capability of reaching it.

So I made compromises, for the sake of my sanity. And adjusted my expectations. And told someone “If Im unable to do even the bare minimum of any of these before I turn 25. I will kill myself.” And I plan to honor it. Maybe Ill even set the deadline earlier. If I see no improvements despite trying my best, despite setting my expectations the lowest I can, and setting my hopes and happiness to be as simple as possible. Then, what’s the point?

They say red is the color of anger. But for me, it is also the color of love.

I constantly see flashes of red in my vision lately. Its stressful. Tiring. But I tell myself, regardless of how ridiculous the frequency is, and how intense the anger I feel for certain things. The anger I feel is a product of me learning to be capable of actually, properly loving the things I do.

So it’s not all that bad. It’s not all too helpless. I still love the things and people I do right now. So I can hang on for a while longer.

Despite the person I am being an extremely angry one, a helpless fool, and an incapable nobody.

Even if the person I am right now is someone who is incapable of giving their all in the name of the love they defined by themselves.

And despite the person I am, being a disturbed person-mimicking phantom.

I’ll keep trying.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to turn the person I am into the person I wanted to be, in some form.

For now, I will continue to try and paint my surroundings, body, and soul in orange, in an attempt to feel any comfort.

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yuusanity · 2 months

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The view inside my head.

It has been years since I completely stopped writing. When I was a young kid, I used to start writing stories nearly daily, and never complete it. There was no clear theme, no clear goal. I just enjoyed writing. Telling stories that didn't make sense, stories that were incomplete. Writing was my coping mechanism. Even if I was not creating stories. I was retelling my own story in vague poems.

I don't even remember the process of writing anymore. If anything. I don't remember much of my childhood anymore. Especially the feelings that came with those memories, if I even felt anything, in those moments. There must have been something though. Right? Although my old writings were very much lacking any direction. There was still something that kept me going, aside from the joy of having a means to talk about anything that came across my mind. For someone to do something creatively, there must be feelings that come alongside it.

All I can do right now is to try and theorize about it. When I try to look back into my past to try and remember about this. I draw a blank. Even when I tried to take a different approach and try to retrace my metaphorical footsteps by trying to incite something from writing in the present. There's nothing. If anything, when I tried to write in the present. There was even less of a direction. But this time, in my feelings. The only conclusion I came to in regards of this topic, is that the younger me had a ton of feelings that were trying to be conveyed through their writing, although their writing is very immature and messy, and the logical direction cannot be understood. Meanwhile, the present me, I can barely tell if there is even any feelings in my current writing, I can't feel any of the passion I imagined the younger me would have, in any of my drafted writings in the present time. There is no imagination. But there is logic, tiny jagged pieces of logic, glued together like building blocks, creating something that is admittedly formidable in and of it's own, despite the lack of passion and imagination.

I've always been better at the subject of mathematics, rather than arts. But I've always believed that art is a detrimental part of what would be my future, and a major part of my identity. Is it innocence? Maybe not, maybe it's just blind hope. Because even now, I sometimes have thoughts that art is something that I should be doing, despite reality showing me time and time again that it is not for me.

You can't create something from nothing. In mathematics, that would be proven wrong. "0+1=1" There is something that can always be made out of nothing, when it comes to mathematics. But in art, I am not sure. Can you sculpt something when there is no materials to sculpt from? Can you mold something out of empty space? How can you create something when there is nothing to support it? How can I even ever hope to express what is inside my mind, when the view inside my mind, is an empty one? The logical side of my brain wants to argue that it is simply not possible for a person to be completely incapable of creating art. Art is the essence of life, everyone existing in life is capable of it. But time and time again, I tried. And every single time that I failed, I lost fragments of myself. And I grew scared. So I stopped trying. Maybe I am doing it wrong, the logical part of my brain would argue, so if I am doing it wrong, and I cannot find a solution in the present time, surely I can find a solution in the future, or I might just come across it in the future. Either way, both the "creative" and logical parts of my brain came to the conclusion that nothing good will come out of me losing bits and pieces of myself by constantly trying and failing currently.

My logic has rarely ever failed me, so I trust it. But the other side is filled with nothing but worry and doubts. Mathematically. There is still a probability. But in reality, I no longer know. I have been proven time and time again, that there is nothing left inside my mind. There is no view inside of my mind that I could create art from.

It's strange, really. I used to daydream a lot. There were plenty of universes and stories inside of my head that was constantly playing out. I kept saying that there is nothing in my mind to create art from, but it is not completely empty, if anything, in reality, it is too full of messy thoughts and things. It feels crowded inside my head. Which is strange, there are no longer full worlds being dreamed out inside my mind, yet my head still feels so noisy and crowded. Maybe I lost the inability to see what is playing out in my head while growing up? Is that an adult thing? Probably not. But while there is only vast darkness in the imagery inside my mind. I dont feel alone. I never feel alone. There are voices that accompany me 24/7. Some make me uneasy, some just make me feel neutral, but some of them…some of them feel familiar. Maybe some of the characters that are from the stories and universes from the past, managed to stay? Maybe it really is not a 0, but a decimal. There is a fragment of something left, not a 1, but something. Right?? If it is them that remained, that must account to something.

I don't know. I can't draw on the black image inside my head, because it isn't a black canvas, but just pure darkness that I cannot grasp. But there are voices that accompany me in this darkness. Some are nice, some arent. Some are familiar, and some make me uneasy about them. They are constant. Maybe the problem is not in my mind and the image inside of it? But in my eyes, in my actual body. And my inability to see details out of things.

I don't know.

All I know is that I'm no longer a creative person.

Aside from writing, I also tried my hand at drawing, the same time I started learning Japanese, so around when I was 10 years old! I was bad at it.

>This was originally drafted several days ago, and I thought, why not upload it here? Practically no one knows the existence of this account. I gave up using the notes app. Because I remembered I had shared a link of one of my notes on my twitter account, and I got scared of being perceived by people (a common happening)

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