So I just stopped writing after the pandemic started. At least, I stopped writing here. Instead, I took my thinking to journals (and I wrote a gross amount of video game dialogue for a separate project), to escape. It’s been a year, and I think I’m ready to return to online journaling. I like intersectional…
When I write confessionally, or vulnerably, i.e. autobiographically, I plummet towards exhaustion, like stone to floor. My writing energy hardens from good intentions, to fears of “getting in trouble”: whatever trouble means. I know this makes me a prisoner of my mind, and I’m aware this means self-care is essential. Once self-care is established, psychological…
I don’t know what to write. I don’t know what to write for blogs. For stories. For poems. I think I found myself some writer’s block. I have complex post-traumatic stress disorder, or C-PTSD. The “C” means that I didn’t get here through the classic method—going to war, for example—but through the thousand-cuts method, injured…
While my experience is unique—every autistic person's experiences are unique, just like allistics—I think some of my stories could contribute to the larger narrative of acceptance.
