I’m autistic. That comes with a side of ADHD. It’s also led to anxiety, paranoia, and slight scophobia, which is the fear of being looked at.
I hate feeling watched.
I’m getting better. I can now walk down the street with my dogs during daylight hours. I stopped because so many people in my neighborhood would tell me they saw me walking all the time. The comments themselves were harmless–but when I walk, I think. I like to be alone, because it feels personal. So when so many people told me that they are watching during my private moments, even if those “private” moments are held in public, well…
I felt exposed. I felt vulnerable. So I started walking my dogs at night.
When I realized that lot of people like to stay in their cars and talk, I started walking later and later. Walking at 1 am means I won’t run into the people who come home at 9 or 10 or 11 pm, and I won’t have worry about whether the owner of the car with its lights beaming down the street is staring at me. Walking at 1 am means I have the entire street to myself, and I don’t have to worry about what anyone else thinks of me. Walking at 1 am gives me the chance to be alone.
I guess it was a natural progression, to go from walking later and later to not walking at all. I used to walk every day. Now I probably walk a few times a week.
As I said, I’m getting better. But now I have to change my habits. And that’s tough. Tougher than building a habit that doesn’t mean overriding one that already exists.
I haven’t been posting because it feels useless. That’s the depression talking–or is it anxiety? I think it’s depression. That’s one of the symptoms, right? That nothing you do matters.
I can still post on my private tumblr account, but that feels useless too. No one wants to read my words. They want to reblog the gifs about a show that someone else made. My most popular post is about someone else. I’m very proud of that legacy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel ignored.
I used to think this wasn’t an issue for me. That I’m an introvert, so I don’t need people.
I was wrong. Apparently, feedback is very important to me. And, also apparently, I like feedback best when it’s coming from my preferred persons. And those preferred persons don’t always want to give the kind of feedback I’m looking for. So I guess I’m a bit more extroverted than originally planned.
This contributes to thoughts of worthlessness, which contributes to a depressive funk, which contributes to my anxiety because I feel I’m not good enough, which leads me to cut people out of my life, which leads to reduced opportunites for jobs and friends, which means I feel even more like a failure at life, and no one wants to hear my whining anyway. It’s like a merry-go-round of doom, and some people don’t make it off the playground alive.
I never thought that I’d consistently want to check up on my friends to see if they’re still alive.
I’m trying to get back to this blog, because I like to write. It’s fun for me. It’s an outlet for emotions, and I enjoy critiquing things. I treasure every follow, every like. It’s just hard to summon the energy when you feel like a small pathetic blob so gross that no one wants to come close.
I know, in my head, that’s not true. I can’t help feeling that way, though. I can fight it with all I am, but I can’t always help it. It persists, like a gut issue that won’t go away no matter how many things you try.
I’m not asking for help, so don’t worry about it. I’m just trying to get something out there to kick myself into writing again. I tried to make another post about humans and the ethical ramifications of dog breeding, but who even cares? Who would even listen? Why even post something like that?
So I’m trying to jump a hurdle with a lame leg. Here’s my leap.