I’ve been getting better since being diagnosed with hypothyroidism, and have been branching out onto Facebook. I’m not the most social person, but I thought maybe joining some groups might help. There aren’t many groups for Autistics that I’ve found (am I not looking in the right place??) and those I have found are pretty dead. Looking around some mommy pages, I found a group that I thought would be interesting to look at. It was kind of dead, but they had another spinoff group that was a lot busier that I just joined. I started commenting today, and already I’ve been labeled a troll and called someone else. Anyone hear of Craig Egan, vaccine defender? Yeah, they think I’m him. Hah. While I love science and all, there’s no way I could be that proactive and knowledgeable. I’m still having memory problems. The other day I couldn’t even remember my own children’s birthdays.
It drives me absolutely insane when people don’t believe me, either. Or when they don’t take me seriously. When they say things like, “That’s ok dear.” or “Oh yeah, sure, we believe you…” And then laugh. Drives me up a wall. Same as when people say I’m lying. I will take a sword and show you how freaking serious I freaking am! *breathe* See why I hate people? I hate being social. Social only gets backstabbing, laughing at, and ridicule. Mocking. Name calling. Everything, you know. I mean, yeah there are good people around, but the outrageous amounts of insane people out there is enough to make anyone not want to see another person ever. Yes, I have mental issues. But I would wager a bet that 90% or more of EVERYONE else has something. Anxiety, depression, denial, paranoia, love of inanimate objects, foot fetish. There is no such thing as “normal” as most people see it. Normal is a myth, a myth that is brought up again and again as something we need to model ourselves after, but it’s really just hiding who we truly are. I hate that. I hate hiding who I am. I hate hiding the fact that I dream about death and killing people. I hate the fact that I have to hide my deepest darkest secrets that I don’t think I will even tell this journal. My own mother doesn’t even really like me. Depressed? Hide it. Morbid? Hide it. All this hiding and bottling up is damaging. I’m sick of it. And now I want to go show those belittling idiots how stupid they really are by making them experience the nastiness of their own words. If only I could… If I could be a powerful empath and control emotions just by thinking about a person, I would show them how they make people feel.
I should stop before I get too far… At least my husband knows what goes on inside of me and still loves me.