Note: This is a stand-alone piece, but is also a continuation and elaboration on topics discussed in a prior post. Additionally, though the title likely implies as much, here’s a content warning for what will follow: discussion of suicide, self-harm, and depression.
We're a few days into 2023 and, while I'm quite aware that there's no cosmic significance to the flipping calendar pages beyond that which is inherent in the mere passage of time itself, there's just something about a new year that really fuels a rare optimistic spirit that inhabits my body for about a month…
Ah the holiday season. That lovely time of year full of joy and good will toward—yeah, no. What for many is the most wonderful time of year is, for me, a lower level of hell. Truly, no recurrent block of time could be worse for me in virtually every way, starting with the obvious: it's dark and cold; always dark, always cold…
n years gone by, I held this belief that my only limitations were those I willingly accepted. I believed that I was morally culpable for any shortcoming in productivity or output, no matter how arbitrary the metric or context. I would fail to live up to lofty expectations I placed on myself and believe it was due to personal defect…
Well, here we are. Three months ago, I broke. I fell completely to pieces. It was inevitable. I was and have been on a collision course with Autistic burnout my entire life. It was quite literally bound to happen sooner or later. In May, the wheels were set irrevocably in motion, and in June, it all came crashing down…
I want to lead off with a trigger and content warning. What follows is a frank discussion of suicidal ideation, depression, and both of these will be addressed with as much honesty and bluntness as I can manage. Do not read on if you are not in the right headspace to engage with such information; feel free to come back later, or not at all.
