逃離象牙塔

i hate everything about being neurodivergent.

i try to be normal and i try harder to believe the lies i tell myself to get by. it feels even worse to know that when you’re wired differently, things don’t ever get better. it does, probably, in increments, in evanescent flickers, in times when you forget to fully exist in your body, until it doesn’t.

its stupid how im still cutting at the ripe old age of twenty four. still running away from my problems and pretending they don’t exist. but im a third of my existence past being a dumb 16 year old. im supposed to be over this. im supposed to have a fully developed frontal lobe. im supposed to doubt myself and carry the existential dread and move on. and instead, every little thing overwhelms me and i go on autopilot. i wrap my heart in layer after layer to stop the world from feeling like sandpaper. i’ve gotten frighteningly good at this, and honestly, it sends chills down my spine when i think about how much me is missing from the almost human thing people think i am.

or maybe it’s the other way round.

sometimes i start thinking where exactly in my life did things start going wrong. maybe there had been one point if, i chose the other thing, said the other word, things would turn out better than this. but this is the best version of whatever shitshow of a life i kind of half-willingly got myself into, so i guess there won’t ever be an answer even until i’m frying metaphorical eggs in my brain and i’d rather not do that.