Story of a recently diagnosed, 18 y/o aspie

I wrote this in november. Before diagnosis, i was diagnosed in January. I'm 18 now.

It's not light reading - in terms of content or length. So I hope you have some patience.

So I'd say for the entire duration of my adolesence I have struggled in one way or the other. In my first year of secondary school (I'm not sure what grade this is equivelant to in the US and other countries, but the age is 11-12). I'd recently moved to the area. I had a bad feeling about the school from the moment I arrived. My parents however, were keen for me to go. So, I did.

In the summer of 2014, they had a summer school at this school which I attended. That was when my first experiences of bullying there started. Pretty low level. These two girls, stealing my equipment. But it got worse and I ended up having a day or so off. But I did make some friends.

When I started in September that year,I felt alone. I remember texting my mum, as I stood outside in the playground, alone. The "friends" I had made, quickly abandoned me. Almost instantly, a campaign of bullying began against me. Firstly, it was just insults and stuff. Low-level stuff, though it did get worse. It was very cliquey - like an american high school or something. Almost everyone bullied me. A lot of them were girls. I started that school with an open mind, perhaps innocent, perhaps naiive. Within weeks, that had all gone. I was hardened. I was bold, I was assertive, something I no longer am. Fights and other acts of violence were almost the norm, happening on a near daily basis. I believed fighting would get me respect, the respect I needed to prove I wasn't gonna take sh*t from anyone. So, one December morning, I went out into the playground, demanding one of the main bullies come to fight me. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately depending on what way you look at it, one of his lackeys showed up instead. I wanted the organ grinder, not the monkey! The main bully in question was supposedly in detention, so I had it off with this kid instead. It wasn't really a proper fight, though I guess you coudl say I "won", as I ripped his shirt, and he gave up. Eventually, a fellow student managed to mediate some kind of truce between the two of us.

The school's policy was not to expel any kids, regardless of how bad they were, something which worked great for them, but worked terribly for the rest of us. The school's strategy for bullying? They basically told me to accept it and put up with it. This was coming from the head of year, a black woman. I said to her "If you were getting racist abuse, would you like it if we told you to "put up with it"?" I can't remember what she sadi to that. anyway, it was decided in the school's infinite wisdom, that i would be moved from one half of the year to the other, so that the bullying would stop. Of course, this didn't happen, as everyone on that side of the year, many of whom used to be my "friends" bulied me. Things went from bad to worse. I was physically bullied, but I would retaliate. Something I wish I could have done later. One of the most brutal forms of bullying against me, and I was embarassed to talk about it for years, was when I was lured into an ambush by these girls. They told me this girl liked me, and of course, me being young and innocent, I thought i was going to meet her. I waited outside of the building at lunch, supposedly for this girl to turn up.

The girl did turn up.

But she wasn't alone.

At least three girls I believe, turned up, walking towards me. What was going on? I don't remember exactly what happened next, but this girl accused me of looking up her skirt or something, and then physically assaulted me, and pushed me over this small fence thing onto some dirt. I was kicked and punched. By a girl! It was both humiliating, degrading and upsetting. I cried, and the girl was merely suspended for a day or two as shes just had "anger issues". I can't remember what fight it was, but I remember basically the entire year group chased me, hunted for me like some kind of lynching, and faced me off, shouting at me "We don't want you in our school!". I got called all sorts. Most of it went on under the very noses of the teachers, who of course, did nothing, either choosing to turn a blind eye, or believing it was merely "banter" or some other menial exchange of words. In May that year, I had enough. After seeing a counsellor, I decided to leave. I went to the school which was about a two minute walk from me, which made far more sense, and in hindsight I shoudl ahve gone there from the start.

There was a hiatus of about a year so from this. at my new school, I settled in well, and made a fair few friends. Well, most of them were merely aquitances, but this was like being in a different world compared to where I was before. There was a girl at my new school who went to my old one, and I was always consciously aware she could spill the beans on my background. She did say a thing or two about the incident of me being beaten up by a girl, but she was the kind of girl that pissed everyone off, and so she lost all credibility after repeating it about sxi times.

Year 8 of school (12-13) was a good year, probably my best school year. though looking back i can see the "friends" i attatched myself too weren't really friends. I was the white kid who thought it was cool to chill with the black kids, they were like evanangelical christians or something, and I immersed myself into their culture. But I was mostly just used by them for stuff, like buying them lunch. Nothing came of our friendship, and I lost further contact with them when another white kid joined the group and kind of kicked me out. I had also made a group of friends with these other kids who were local to me. In hindsight, they were all little so and sos, which i will rexplain in a moment. We had a good time though.

But as seems to be the case for almost everything in my life, it didn't last.

Put it simply, they turned on me and started bullying me. I think it started over some childish, pathetic thing over fake instagram accounts. I was accused of saying sometyhing to someone, which IU didn't, by one of my friends, turning them all against me. They then bullied me. It wasn't that bad, a lot of it took place online, other times they would do things like trip me up or threaten to fight me. But I was weak and timid, despite probably nearling six foot by this age.

I had no friends. I started going to this place in school. It's called the *** a centre. It's basically for troubled kids who struggle with mainstream classroom learning. I got on really well with the lady who runs it. I know that year I was close to this girl, her name was Grace, and I think I basically got friendzoned on day one, but either i didn't see it, or i didn't care, I was just grateful to have a friend. But...

It didn't last.

As the year progressed, we got further apart. She stopped talking to me in class, she started sitting elsewhere. I later found out she had a boyfriend. I was admittedly quite rude to her in the end, I was jealous I can't lie, but I was so pissed off about being back to square one again.

If the next two years (2017-2019, so aged 14-16) could be characterised by something, it would be my past coming back to haunt me.

I went into Year 10, hoping to start afresh, and almost be treated like a different person. But that...

Didn't happen.

I honestly can't remember too much about what happened in these years, as for some reason my memory of being in Year 10 (14-15) is prety rough, and most of Year 11 (15-16) was characterised by me doing my exams.

The overriding theme however in these years, was the past coming back to haunt me. Meaning? The bullying.

The bullying was probably continuing at this point, but I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the bullyign i faced in Year 7. They weren't trying to bully me again or something - they couldn't, they went to a different school. But rather, I was becoming increasingly paranoid that somehow, they would find me again, and expose me and reveal how they bullied me, and then bully me again.

This, whilst somewhat irrational, was not completely out of the question. The shitty town I live in (yes its expensive, yes its very green and upmarket but theres nothing to do and i h ate a lot of the people) is small, and everyone seems to know everyone, particuarly with the youth population. Ocassionally, they would try to follow or message me on social media. I began to have nightmares, about being attacked again, about being found by these bullies. I would be so paranoid, whenever I went out in my town centre, I'd either literally hide in the car, or cover my face. My first, and my only instinct, was survival. I knew I couldn't fight - so I had to run, or hide. Something I've done too much of in my life. Running or hiding (avoiding) from situations, people, places. It was no life. I had imprisoned myself in my bedroom, a place where I am still in captivity. I began to see a psycologist, or some other official soundign person. But he never helped. Instead, he just expected me to open up, and seemed to be more interested in my "sexual fantasies" than anything else. But he, and others believed, I could be suffering with PTSD, given my symptoms. I'd go out ,and I thought I would see them, these bullies. But they weren't there.

I did a stupid thing that year. I don't know if it was jealousy or just me being an ***, but I catfished this boy online who I had been good friends with for a long time. Our friendship had drifted apart, and I guess it was just a joke that went wrong. He found out it was me, and it ended. I had fucked things up again. I ended up catfishing other people too. I often ask myself: why? I never did it malicously. One of my rationale - me being very self conscious and self aware that I had never had a relationship - was to create an online persona of a girl that I could claim to have a relationship with, or to have her comment on my pictures. I'm so pathetic honestly. I stopped it earlier this year, though in periods of intense boredom in my life, i've done it. I never really take it very far, and I stopped doing it to people, and instead just got off on it tbh. I've found it weird, but given i've been catfished myself two times (pretty obvious , but perhaps karma lol), I'm actually quite comfortable discussing it, its more common than a lot of people think. As said, I never did it to get nude pictures of people to manipulate them with ,God no. In some ways, it benefited me? How? Because I got to see how other guys talked to girls online, somethign I was ,and probably am still terrible at. It made me realise how much guys objectify women, but also taught me a caht up line or two. I also managed to catch this ****hole basically cheating on his gf, as he msessaged me asking me for nudes. I never exposed him though as it would be obvious as to who it would be. this happened quite recently. But alas, back to 2018. Now 2019. In this year, I ignored the fact I had no friends, knowing it was my last year of school, and most of the people i didnt like wouyld be leaving. I focused on my exams instead. In January, I managed to see a specialist, offering help to me with my PTSD or symptoms of PTSD with EMDR. ( Eye movement desensitization and reprocessin ). This is a relatibvely novel treatment, created in 1988. I had never heard of it, and the national health service (NHS), the free at point of use service we have in the UK, had just begun offering it. I was considered eligible for it. It aims to deal with traumatic events, such as rape, child abuse, bullying, etc etc. I can't remember exactly how it worked, but it was less about talking, and more about fiollowing hand or finger movements. Within a few months, I could go out again. I was no longer scared of the past, and the bullies. I credited this to me having faith in God. I still had faith at this point, and I believed God, not the EMDR had helped me. In hindsight, I know it was probably the EMDR that helped, but I was also perhaps unwilling to admit it.

During these years I had also developed problems with my back. I was always self conscious of my rear sticking out quite a bit, and my spine being curved. I found this was due to kyphosis and scoliosis, as well as scheuermanns disease. In the early stages of my diagnosis, I considered killing myself once or twice, just to end the physical and mental pain of it. I couldn't run, my main hobby, my main outlet - was gone. I used to love running. I ran for miles, and miles. In the searing heat, or the frigid snow, I'd be out almost every day. And I loved it. I was self conscious about my increasingly tall stature already, at about 6'2, and having surgery would just make met taller. So I decided against it. But the pain - its bad, and it still hasn't gone. I still can't really run. But I've moved on.

The summer of 2019 aws one of the best times for me, even though it paled in comparison to other people's summers that involved partying, going to prom etc etc. I had no one to do these activities with. What did I do instead? Quite a lot. I began to see a lot of my grandad. I loved spending time with him. We would sit together in his room in my grandparent's retirement flat, sharing our love of country music, and sharing stories with me. He had dementia, worsening, but we could still talk. It was an extended summer, as due to exams, we finish school about six weeks earlier than everyone else. We went to Barcelona as a family, and then to Norfolk, in eastern england. I had been talking to this girl fir a while, who I had met online through social media.

In the UK, sixth form/college is the equivelant of American High School. I was hoping this would be a fresh start, as most people there were new. However, I struggled severely. I found incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to find peopl to talk to who were willing to sustain a conversation with me. Again, everything was very clicquey. For the umpteenth time in my life. I was alone. The girl I had been talking to online? We had been due to meet, I had been prepared to travel well over an hour, nearly two hours, to see her, but I found out she had been talking to someone else and was having a relationship with them. I was fuming. Then I was just upset.

I seriously considered leaving school, and going to another one. But the other two that I emailed woiuld not accept me. I was screwed. I'd just have to hold out for two years at my current school. I spent mots of my free time in *** a. I used to like it there, but now most people there were younger than me, i was the only sixth-former there, and i felt so isolated. I hated life.

Losing Grandad

When someone you love is suddenly admitted to hospital in an ambulance, it's never good news.

However, my grandad had been in the local hospital so many times, and had left unscathed, usually as a consequence of a urine infection. However, I was well aware of my grandad's age, now 80, and the fact his dementia was worsening. My dad was worried - he had been called at God knows what time in the morning, some ungodly hour, and had lost patience with the hospital barrier, ramming it out of the way, much to the pleasure of other motorists waiting to get in the car park. How he avoided getting fined I still don't know.

Visiting grandad would be a regular occurence in the weeks around Christmastime. What a time! He was increasingly delirious, believing he had been kidnapped by my aunt, and that he had committed a crime that he needed to "hand himself in" for.

He was transferred to a smaller hospital. I hated hospitals. But this one in particular. The ward was filled with other mostly elderly patients, with one shouting his head off at 10 second intervals. We'd be sitting around his bed for what felt like hours, painstakingly waiting for dinner to arrive and then for him to eat it. I was impatient, and I regret it. I remember asking my dad one time when we left hospital "He's not coming out of hospital, is he?". But my dad appeared to dispute this, believing he was on the road to recovery.

Winter that year was a bleak and blustery affair. It was mild. Wet. Stormy. Windy. Snowless. Everything winter shouldn't be, the winter was. I'll explain it more later, but I believe due to my possible ASD, I ended up having a fixation with the weather and tempreatures, and probably had some kind of "eco-anxiety" for a while. It's not something I talk about often, but I do remember constantly reading alarmist headlines with regards to the climate and scarign myself to death about the future. I laugh at this now. How can I worry about what will happen in twenty, thirty years time when I have to worry about just making it to the next day?

It was one morning in...I think it ws January, maybe early February, but I could be wrong, when I was told to come downstairs "for some news". This...this was never going to be good. Like when my nan died, I knew something was wrong. "It's grandad isn't he?" I said. "He's got cancer" dad replied. "He's got 3-4 months" or something like that. I instatnyl began to cry. I was already having a sh*tty morning. My brother did the same. My dad didn't cry, and I've never seen him cry. I applaud him for that. He muts be a very strong man. Though I found out recently he too suffered with depression around this time due to his dad and work pressure.

I saw grandad later that day, in hospital. He was going to be released and sent home. They had given up trying to help rehabilitate his mobility, and would now send him home, his final resting place.

Lockdown in the UK begun on the 23rd March. Schools had ended a few days earlier, the government bowing to the inevitable. I had no idea when we would be back ,but in some ways, lockdown had done me a favour: it meant that a large chunk of those two years at sixth form could be bypassed.

Lockdown was eerie. For the first time in my life, there was uncertainty as to whether there would be food on the table. Okay, maybe that is slightly dramatic, but nonetheless, there was a risk we would go hungry. I remember queuing up outside of shops, something that seems surreal, as we all piled into supermarkets, maskless, and standing right next to each other in the middle of a FUCKING PANDEMIC.

Two days into lockdown - the 25th - my nan emailed me. something vague about wanting to speak to a doctor. My nan usually sends erratic and erroneous emails and so I chose to ignore it, though I showed dad. He then got a call from nan.

There was a knock on my door.

There was bad news.

Grandad had taken a turn for the worse. He wasn't well.

I had not been there when my nan on my mum's side of the family had died, and I wasn't going to do the same with my grandad. "Yes" I said, when my dad asked me if I wanted to come. I had a duty to.

I dropped the coursework I was wroking on, grabbed my phone and a charger - and we were off. 60. 70. 80. We were speeding down that highway as if it were a racetrack. It was completyely void of other traffic though. We arrived, passing friends of my grandad, oblivious to the fact he was on his deathbed. Nan had chosen to keep it from them for now. I went in to see my grandad. Social distancing had gone out the window.

Grandad...grandad was in a bad way. His breathing - it wasn't right. I've never been wiht someone when they were dying before, and it made me a lot more emotional than I thought. I began to cry, as I clenched his hand. I couldn't tell if he was trying tol say something or not. He couldn't speak.

We left, and headed home.

It was later in the evening, when we got a call: grandad had died.

There was no emotion, it was, after all, the inevitable. I cracked open a bottle of cider, the only alcohol I knew at that point, and drank. One of those days! Little did I know there would be plenty more of them to come.

The cermation was a solitary and grim affair. I didn't even have a proper suit. I just wore an old school shirt and tie, my grey coat, and a pair of trousers and school shoes. I remember my nan's funeral, it was bright and lively. This was just depressing. The limits on people meant hardly anyone could be there. I had often planned about speaking about grandad's life to a large audience, but this sort of celebration never happened. The only comfort we were allowed was to toucha nd put a rose on the coffin as its made its way into the chapel. Ironic. Grandad was an atheist. The chapel doors were then promptly shut. And that was it. We were to disperse. I cried. I had not only lost my grandad. I had lost a friend. A fucking, fucking good friend. In some ways, despite the age difference, he was almost like a brother to me. And the worst part of it? WE couldn't even give him the send off he deserved.

Lockdown

The first few weeks of lockdown weer okay. I tried to be optimisitc, patriotic even, thinking that this virus could genuinely be defeaten. I tired to think of the wars in the past and how my ancestors would have coped. All we had to do was stay inside. I told myself to stop worrying, and make the best of long walks in the frosty mornings. It really was surreal, and a part of me embraced this dystopian like world. Wearing a mask was a novelty then, I had worn one before lockdown even began. But after a few weeks, when it became clear that this would go on for more than a month, I became depressed. Particuarly given my birthday, which really was, despite my mum's best efforts, pretty crap.

I wanted to make tghe most of lockdown by using it as an opportunnity to try and build relationships, friendships and otherwise, online. My new years resolution was to get a girlfriend. I was, and still am, hugely self conscious. I hate the way I look. My parents tell me im handsome and that - but they're your parents. They're not going to tell you you're fucking ugly are they? I talked to lots of girls. Nothing ever came. One of the girls i talked to - and when i say talk, i mean pretty brief - was this girl in *** a. Her name was abbie. When i first saw her there, i thought she was about 13/14. Year 9. I found her attractive, and im cringing because of this, because I liked her ***. I found out she was year 8, which means 12/13, so i kind of stopped feeling that way about her. But in lockdown, I admitted to her online I did find her attractive. When she asked me what i liked about her? I said her ***. I'm a terrible person. I don't know what age i thought she was then, 12 or 13. She said she had a girlfriend, and nothing happened.

A month later ,she asked me out. This flattered me, because this was the first girl to ever ask me out. How fucking pathetic. I said i hjad to "think about it". this was a delaying tactic. I knew it would be weird, especially when I established she was a fcouple of monthgs away off being 13. I'm not sure if i knew this from the start, and i have beaten myself up about this fact in the last three months or so. I ended up asking online what ppl would think of a 13y/o going out with a 17/y/o - i turned 17 a month before. The responses, confirmed my belief that this wouldn't be a good idea, even if I didn't engage in any kind of sexual activity with her. she wanted me to screw her! she asked me "what would you do to me?" I could kind of see where this was going. "What do you mean?" i ASKED. "Sexually" she replied. I was like "Nothing, because you're underage". FFS. Had I given out the wrong impression? I can't remember everything I said, but I do ask myself if i did give the idea that when we originally spoke i wanted to go out with her or something. Either way, I felt bad after first saying this, but still - did i know her age or not? She clearly acted very old for her age. She tried to convince me we could have some kind of sexual relationship, but I said no. And that was the end of it =- but all thes emonths later, I worry myself sick with this.

My first (and only) girlfriend

The sad thing about that girl, is that I for a moment did consider about going out with her. Why? I was lonely. So, fucking lonely and pathetic. I didn't want sex from her or whatever. I even thought just about saying we were going out for lockdown, giving me time to think about it so i didn't have to see her, just to say I HAD a girlfriend. But, I'm glad I didn't just go for the first thing to come to me, esepcially not her.

I began to post more on instagram in lockdown, and I re-made contact with a girl i knew from primary (elementary school). she was a couple of years younger than me (15) and began commenting on my pictures. She offered to meet me - we did so as friends. Her name was Katie. I really liked her. She was attractive, and I loved her personality. She was kind and everything. One day when we were talking online, she dropped in "I really need a bf" midway through a converation, casually. I offered to be hers- and she accepted. The euphoria I felt! I had a girlfriend. All these years. Finally, I had struck lucky.

I remember our first date. A day or so before, trying my luck, I went to an off license and bought a bottle of vodka. I blagged my way through it,. I had been told they sold to under 18s. It wasn't even proper vodka, smirnoff ice or something. i took it with me on our first actual date. I remember sitting by the side of a dual carriageway with her, my hands around her as we drunk vodka straight from the bottle! *** me, we must have looked rough. But she really wasn't.

We walked and talked across town, ending up at another off license, where I bought more booze. Don't even know what it was, but it was good. We ended up snogging in the middle of a park! I was chuffed. Finally, finally. Life was being good to me. Things only got better. We met again, and again. At my house, we went for a picnic at the park, we went on ad ay out to London. This may sound sad, but this was probably one of the best times of my life, and the best thing of this entire cursed year.

But.

It had to end.

And it only had to end too fucking soon.

About a month and half or whatever, she sends an ominous text about wanting to speak. she says she wants to postpone our next meeting to take a break. I'm shitting myself - is it a break up - but she says no. And so I let it be. She goes on holiday. No, this isn't the bit where she meets another boy. It's the bit where I seemingly f*ck things up again. I'd noticed shed always sounded a bit prejudiced when talking about Muslims and other groups. More scared of them than anything. I just casually asked her about it, what she was afraid of. She flipped. She began spouting out general right-wing, racist/islamaphobic rubbish about muslims and black people. She saiud i was weird for asking her about this. I noticed she then didn't respond ot my messages properly, like one word answers. i asked whats wrong. she wasked to break up. i was upset. i was devastated. I hated myself. Why did it have to end? I asked. Everytime I get something good in my life, it dissapears!

Somehow, we managed to remain on rather amicable terms, staying friends and keeping in touch. I'm not lying when I say she texted me every day. I still had feelings for her. But they weren't replicated.

We arranged to meet. For the first time since we split up - as friends. We chose the gym, as we both shared an interest in boxing. I liked boxing. Why? I realised I was half decent at it - I had so much agression inside of me, I had to channel it into something. I had turned to the bottle. Spurred on by muy success in aquriing vodka in an off license, I had also managed to get served in lots of pubs. I wasn't drinking that often. But it became an outlet for me. Alone, of course. I remember one afternoon, I came back from school. I was so angry - at my self! I had no one to blame. I just went out. I said I was going to the gym. That was a half truth. I spent the first half an hour going through town, trying to get served, throwing money down the drain as they wouldn't. I went to the gym in the end.

When I saw Katie that day, I realised how much I missed her. What I was missing. It was almost torture to cotninue to be friends with her, but she convinced me she had MH problems of her own, and that iw as her only friend. so i stayed. But that day, I went to the pub straight afterwards - double whiskey. Scotch. It was good.

But even our friendship had to end.

I was talking to her for a while before, and she was getting quite agitated at times. She said stuff like "appreciate me - i'm all you've got", taking advantage of the fact that it was true - she was my only friend. Then hse accused me of arguing with her when she said she thought I had autism, and I challen ged this. She finally flipped one day when we were etxting, casually, she said she had to stay behind at school for revision. "that's rough" or something lik ethat i replied. All of a sudden, she swears at me, her friends send voiec messages saying im weird, that she doesn't like me, and she blocks me. I'd had enough. It was my fault, AGAIN! I ran downstairs, looking for the first alcoholic drink I could find - cider, took it with me, and stormed out into the fields, sobbing my fucking heart out. Not just about Katie. But everything. I was a freak. I was always to blame. I couldn't do anything right! That day had torrential, and I mean torrential rain. I went outside, getting myself soaked whilst drinking. I don't know what I intended to do - run away perhaps? Kill myself? *** knows. But it didnt last long because my mum saw me and took me back home

I began to feel extremely suicidal. I contemplated death - how would I die? I planned on suicide by cop. It's very easy to get shot by the police. This is not juts an american phenonemon. You can easily call the police, claim to have a gun or a bomb, ro say you've seen someone, wallk up towards the police, and they will shoot you. It makes you feel you have control in your death too. If you get cold feet, you can surrender. However, I was aware that I'd be putting the officer through the psycological trauma of potentially killing an innocent person. an innocent, suicidal person at that. i'd rather kill myself wiothout having to involve anyone. jumping in front of a train? A train driver will be left scarred for life, and potentially passengers. Overdosing seemed too 50/50. Eventually, my parents and school found out, and I had to get emergency phsyicatric help. They diagnosed me with clinical depression, and I saw a private consultant who diagnosed me with the same. I began my first dose of antidepressants - 20mg of flureoxeotine. It sent me up the walls. I was now off school. Before that, I already wasn't eating. I just stayed in bed. I couldn't do anything. I would now have prolonged outbursts. I'd self harmed 3 times. A fourth on the higher dose. But where before I was sleeping loads, now i kept waking up. My dreams - so vivid! I'd have struggle to pass water. Very low sex drive. Suicidal thoughts. The medication was not working.

I was getting so obsessed and upset about this girl, the one who was in year 8. What if i did know her age and still said i liked her? I must be a peadophile? I deserve to die, im a terrible person? Did i say this? wait, did I say thjat? i was dreaming, thiking id said stuff which i had to wake up and ask myself - of course i didnt! I cried so much. About my grandad. Having no friends. Hating myself. The problem is me!

The closest I came to do anything suicidal was out on a walk.

The day in question - a saturday. The first day of my new job. My first job, at a supermarket. a few months prior, i would have jumped at the chance, but now i was not os sure. I've been crying lately by the easiest things. an emotional piece of music, a thought here, nature here. it makes me well up and cry. I burst out crying in broad daylight that morning.

I went past these vicious, barking dogs at a farm - usually I would have shat myself and ran. But I didn't! I just stood there, and faced htem off. Nothing could scare me - if they attacked me, it wouldb e painful, but i could die at least! I crossed a bridge across the motorway. We had passed under it in a car so many times. I had seen on another bridge earlier that tyou could get tyour feet onto a surface ont he ohter sidef. I went to the side, not on the road, but just bnefore it went over the road. I climbed over, and edged towards the carriageway. I turned back. It was so spontaneous. Like the self harm. I hate the way I look. I'm skinny, i must be ugly, ive only had one gf and it didn't even last two months! Girls comment on my pictures for jokes. I went home and cried. I cried basically every day after that.

The present?

So anyway, I'll continue by adding on what happened after this. Because a LOT did happen. In some ways, things actually got worse. And by worse, I mean a LOT worse. I guess that ssubjhective, but certainly things didn't end after writing this back in November. And so its only fair I add more.

After writing this back in November/December, I shared it. Quite widely. People asked why I was off school. I had nothing to lose by sharing this. I was satisfied, surprised even, by the responses I got. Some people genuinely did care. People who I had never spoken to expressed their support for me, and praised how open I was.
Christmas came, and it was terrible. Really. Lockdown had meant that I couldn't see any family barring the parents and brother I lived with. I cried on christmas day, I missed my grandad so much. So much.

On New Years Eve, I got very, very drunk, and probably would have ended up with alcohol poisoning had my parents not seen I had attempted to pour myself a literal glass of rum. January began, and with that, so did the cold. Winter had truly begun, and unlike the winter before, this really was winter. A really, really bitter winter, rather reflective, I think, of the mood I was in. Bitter. Schools were closed; online learning returned. I was so lonely. This time of year is depressing for a lot of people. At the beginning of February, things got really bad. My ex girlfriend had found out about this post, and actually apologised. She unblocked me, and apologised, and renounced her racist views. Which was nice. But the next day, (though unconnected), I attempted suicide for the second time. I went a step further - literally. I went up to the roundabout at the end of my road, and stood on the very edge of the bridge, over the highway below. It was only someone, a mother of a young child I think, getting out of their car that caused me to stop. I wasn't going to bother anyone with my troubles. I just calmly moved on. I don't think I had even cried. That was the second time that day I had nearly died. The first, was coming out of my therapists; I looked the wrong way down a one way street and nearly got hit by a car. Death just didn't seem to phase me anymore. None of it did. I felt nothing.

The next day or so, I had been drinking a bit. Not that much, but you don't need to drinkl that much whiskey to start feeling the effects. I had "befriended" this boy who went to my school. used to anyway. i opened up to him back in november about my MH issues and thought he would be supportive. Like most teenage boys, we talked about girls we liked. Unfortunately, probbaly due to my aspergers, being lonely, and under the influence of alcohol, I stupidly, so stupidly shared some dumb sexual fantasy I had written about a girl I liked at my school. I was so stupid. The next day, I saw this girl had blocked me. But the boy denied sending anything. Then the school called, and told my parents. I wasn't in trouble as such, they were more worired about me, but it was honestly one of the worst times of my life. Probably for my parents too. They thought I'd get kicked out of school or something (Idk whyu because it wasn't violent or anything paraphillic etc). I remekmber, sitting in the living room, half asleep (they had taken everything away from me), awaiting my fate as the snow fell. Nothing came; til the next day or so, when I found out this boy had also shared my reddiut post (which admittedly was in the public domain) to the boy of the girl I talked about earlier, who was asking questions and doubting my account of events. My parents, fearing hte worse, orderd me to delete all my social media. I did so, and I felt ashamed, humiliated, and angry with myself. i was also sad for my parents for having to deal with me, and the pathetic human i am. or at least, was. I don't know. Anyway, nothing happened. But it was a very scary experience for us all. We thought maybe this fantasy had been sent to others, but it hadn';t. But I still believed this boy had done it in the best interests of the girl, I was deluded maybe, I thought he was still my friend. Maybe because I was (and still am) desperate to have one, I was willing to tolerat ehis toxic nature. I thought it was all MY FAULT. It was what I deserved. I don't know , again I dont know if its the drink or my aspergers, but one time on snapchat , you know where people can send you questions? People were goading me on to name the girl in my year who i'd wank over, and for some reason i did. I hate this condition so much if it is responsibvle for me not judging situations.
I self harmed more. I hated myself. I had quit my job. I kept screwing things up. On the job, I would feel very depressed, contemplating suicide and constantly ruminating. I got told off. Kept making mistakes. I quit. I felkt like a faliure. i couldn't even stack shelves. What a waste of space I was.

I felt ashamed of myself, in every way. At least I could talk to me my ex, though her mum wouldn't let me meet me. apparently she had seen this, and didntlike the fact i had bought alcohol for her. Ironic, wasn't it? Had she not seen it, she would have never apologised, but also had she not seen it, her mum would have been none the wiser, yet she would have never apolgoised. this is probably getting confusing. when she made a new friend at school, i felt like she had abandoned me. this boy, i found every time i mentioned a girls name, they would end up blocking me when i tried to iniate a conversation wit hthem. i found the link when he st me up with this girl, wh oended up blocking me. And even the guy i used to go to work with, who he also knew, ended up blocking me. god knows what he told them. I hate this guy soi much. I realise now he was a twisted individual who had some kind of odd motive for wanting to make life a misery for me, hium knowing i was vulnerable made me feel even more angry with him. I blocked him. If I ever see him again, I can't guarantee I won't act on my urges to hurt him. There's very few people who I feel that strongly about, but he is nothing short of scum.

My 18th birthday came round, and it felt a bit depressing. Not as depressing as christmas though. I was 18, but what did i have to show for it? Things looked like they were looking up, when me and this girl got talking. we arranged to meet; but she cancelled last minute and then i never really heard from her again. a couple of weeks ago i messaged her "hi" and just got told to "get out of my life you weirdo". another girl i had tried to meet on a dating app cancelled, and then the second time. a third girl cancelled , apparently the age difference of two years was too big for her, tho i respect it, i just feel like i am destined to be celibate or without a girlfriend. hearing my ex is seeing another boy (tho not sure in what capacity) makes me feel *** too. I passed my driving test first time, but i have a car but nowhere to drive to, and no one to go with. I'm finished with school in a few days. It's gone too quickly. my childhood has almsot been stolen with me. After my aspergers diagnosis in january time, it confirmed something, it gave an explanation as to all my troubles, but it also raised loads of new questions. and it made me feel a sense of despair. I was f*cked. All the important things in life - getting a job, girlfriend, forming friendships, i was disadvantaged at. Very, disadvantaged. Who gives a *** about how clever I am if I'm unhappy? Intelligence has not brought me happiness ever. I'm sick of this life. Things are kind of looking a bit up. I've made a friend on this friendship "app", i might try and meet ASAP, but apart from that life is lonely. So there you have it. 18 years, 18 years. Good on you if you read all of it. I wouldn't blame if you if you didn't. I'm my own worst enemy. I still ruminate all the time, on everything I've done or feel like i've done wrong. I feel weird, strange especially with aspergers,. I don't tell many people. On some days I embrace my blunt qualities. Other times I mask it and pretend to be like everyone else, that is, after all, who i want to be. Other times I just self pity and also self loathe, trying to make myself feel oppressed by mainstream society as an outlet for my anger and resentment to a word that has been pretty cruel to me and people like me.