The Subtle Art of Giving Too Many Fucks
My autism, my curse
Too much noise and too little signal - that’s how it feels to be around people these days.
In the good ol’ times (there were no good ol’ times), I’d go from zero to doormat in under three seconds to get my breadcrumbs. Today? Not so much. Not that I’ve lost it - it’s just that “it” no longer pays off.
I’ve been reminiscing a lot about friendships lately. It seems like there’s nothing I ever wanted more out of life - that and a sense of belonging. And boy did I try to make it work.
Once upon a time, a girl (like the one in the picture taken by a stranger who might as well have been a fly on my wall) with a heart big enough to hold the world set out into that very same world in pursuit of happiness, kindness and love. She found neither, but a broken vase is still a vase - right?
Some days I blame myself for all the broken pieces. Other days I ask myself what it possibly feels like to grow up in a healthy family, around healthy people, with a healthy mind. Is that the secret to happiness? Is that the secret to belonging, to love?
I guess I’ll never find out.
A broken foundation makes for a broken home.
And more of the same, every day.
The darkest part of me doesn’t believe in a better future - no matter how hard I try. There’s only so much to hold when the weight of the world feels so smothering.
But even after all these years, the heaviest burden is not the trauma, not the betrayal, not the abandonment.
It’s the weight of too many fucks.