In response to my last ‘blog, Sylva calls me to task and says that the autism is separate from the depression. And in many ways, this is true. But in many more ways, it’s not.
I’m sitting here in my room looking at the computer, trying to get something done, and I can’t. I can’t because I’m alternately too distracted, or too focused on something that isn’t what I’m trying to get done.
And this isn’t because I lack self-discipline (though it might be true that I do, to some degree). It’s because that’s how my life will, necessarily, always work, forever and ever. I will always face this challenge, and will never overcome it. I’ll only ever be able to mitigate the circumstances of it.
And this ‘blog, and the last one, and a few others, and probably a few more to come, are about grieving this immutable fact which has haunted me this long, and which is just now, in this stretch of my life, rising above the surface of conscious awareness.
So the question I ask is: Why should I not be depressed, stressed, and wanting to be alone? This state is temporary. The mind will find equilibrium eventually. The heart will rip and tear and then eventually find a way to regain something like wholeness.
Right now, though, I’m pissed.
