On masks and self harm:

On masks and self-harm: in People suck. Cats are awesome. Dogs are alright.

  •  June 25, 2017, 4:31 p.m.
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Other people are afraid of loved ones seeing their diaries. I’m not. I’ve spent my entire life offending and upsetting everyone I know; so I’m transparent. I gave up on trying to only show people the parts of me that I think they’d like a LONG time ago. No matter what I do sooner or later I p!ss off everybody but the most patient and compassionate subset of the population anyway. Therefore pretending to be something that I’m not is pointless. I’m terrible at maintaining the mask, so I just never even bother to put it on unless I really have to.
That’s why this is public, and both the Male and my Australian friend have standing invitations to read it anytime they want. Pretenses just make keeping them straight a pain in the ass. I’m as “real” as it gets. - The Male told me, early in our relationship, that he liked me because I’m not “fake”. - No, I’m definitely not fake. I’ve told people in years past that I’m not a backstabber; I’m a face stabber. If I dislike you enough to say bad crap about you; I’ll be saying it to you. I don’t care that the person I dislike will then hate me, because I don’t see the point in maintaining relationships with people I don’t like anyway. That’s stupid.
I gather there are a lot of aspies out in the world, successfully pretending to be “normal”. (Like my therapist.) I lack that ability, largely because I can’t reign in my temper. That nice-girl facade falls pretty fast when I get mad; and I know from talking to past co-workers that it looks like a 180 degree turn in personality, from the outside. It looks like I’m schizo. - But no, you’re just seeing the mask that I wear to function at work fall away, at the worst possible time, because it’s under the most pressure.
I never liked being at work. I never liked the vast majority of my coworkers. I was not feeling those fake smiles and meaningless greetings and trivial conversations. It was all fake. Then somebody is rude to me, and you see the real person, at her most negative, and it’s not pretty.
I can fake my way through a pleasant interview and into a job, with no problem; but keeping it once I have to interact with people, under stress, is impossible.
My Australian friend was concerned about my self harming.
It’s weird. I’ve been doing it, off and on, depending on the nature of the meltdown, since I was in fifth grade. That’s 34 years of cutting on myself. It’s just part of my semi-routine meltdown stimming. I try not to do it, but the need to cause myself physical pain is very real. Hence the head pounding.
And poorly trained and uneducated psychologists always want to ask “why?”; and I’m stuck trying to explain a feeling that is common for autistics, but apparently unknown to neurotypicals, to some idiot who really ought to already know this. - How do you explain a physical need? Why do you have to breathe, what does that need for air feel like? Or the need to empty your bladder? - It’s INSULTING.
I do it because I have to. End of story. If you don’t get it, go back to f!@#ing college, you moron.- Or, oh hey! Watch some explanatory YouTube videos by people who don’t have psychology degrees, but are somehow far better educated than you!
It’s not a desire to die. I’m not suicidal. If I were, I’d asphyxiate myself; David Carradine and Robin Williams style. Nice and painless.
I always try to satisfy it without permanently scarring myself, but it’s hard. Something like a fly swatter wouldn’t work. I need that feeling of pressure, and I’m not talking weighted blanket pressure. Maybe a punching bag would work.
Onward to the housework, and the daily stuff.
Last updated 21 hours ago

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