I'm the same way. I know I've been through way too much in my life to take any bull from anybody, but my brain can't handle social situations well, especially where confrontation is involved, or needed. It struggles, shuts down, thoughts, feelings, they don't come out right, so I leave feeling frustrated, with them and myself, feeling beaten. I hate it, 'cause, a lot of the time, those people don't deserve that victory. If not that, then I hate it, because those people don't see me as I see the truest version of myself in my heart and mind's eye. I hate that, to them, this is "normal." This is Antonio.
I mean, it is, in some ways. This is who I am now. People still call me Antonio. But, I don't feel that.
Like you, I just want to make them understand, but I've found that's a very difficult thing to do, try as one might. I don't know if it's something about
us being sick, things not coming out perfectly, even if they seem OK, bearable, like the point is still getting across, if it's just a problem with me and/or the people who I've tried to read, or what, but these people around here just don't get it. They don't listen. They have amnesia, when it comes to my health issues. I can tell them to eat crap and die, that they're terrible people, if they loved me, they'd listen to my word and accept it as truth, but they can't remember when I say, I'm sick, this is what I've got, it's serious, and I need your help, even if it's just in the form of understanding. Like, okay, Antonio, I can't save you from this stuff, can't pay for anything, but I believe you, I feel for you. That's all. But, no. It really makes me question what family is worth sometimes. Like, does that blood shared, all the years spent, does that mean anything, really, when push comes to shove?It's different for everybody, depending on the person, the family dynamic, yeah. Still though, I wonder.
The strangers, or just, like, associates, I have never bothered with them. The most I've offered is an "I have a lot of health issues," never going much deeper. Problem is, people's imaginations probably don't conjure much accurate by looking at me, so what's that worth?
But, yeah, people don't get it. I've tried and tried, to the point where I've given up, both because it's just not worth the trouble and, as the months have passed, I've slipped deeper and deeper into all this, growing less and less able along the way.
The fact that most other people don't have to deal with having a mind that's anything less than what it should be, people who are comfortable in their own heads, things like depression and whatnot aside, 'cause, even then, unless it's very severe, they're still themselves, you know? I used to be the sad, emo kid in the family, I hated me and my life (stupidly), but I was still me, intelligent. That's a whole 'nother tangent though.
Basically, yeah, people at home in themselves, especially the smart ones, that's intimidating, because I can't compete with that. That little whisper of life left inside of me could though, if only they could see, hear that.
Maybe someday, I'll be able to say, do, what's inside, beneath the maladies. The value of all these spilled tears, broken years, this that we go through. We deserve a voice. A strong one. They're not hearing us yet, not like they need to be. I don't like that. It's bullcrap. Big, stinking buttpoop. Somebody, call the plumber!
Yes, I have a poop fixation. I don't know why. I like the word. Poop.
With love,
God's Ugly Poop
Edit: Sorry for kind of just.. talking. I know, you probably could have done without, but.. here I am. SORRY, OKAY?