The Full Blown Autistic...losing it

Well, the semblance of order and high functionality has gone out the window. My ....large and obnoxious physical tics have prompted me to drink alcohol. A little tequila and coke....hmmm, seems to work. Being a non-drinker, it don't take much to feel the calming warmth and slowing down of body and brain.

I hate this....strong words...but I spend most days 10-30% with autistic symptoms. Today, I reached 95 uncontrollable percent. Damn, I haven't found myself naked, shaking and ticking this badly in manymany moons.

It's like going from ice to fire...it's a totally different state of being. It's exposure as I struggle to control the obvious and overt tics, the submissive, eye contact avoidance, the uncertainty in my step and the perpetual confusion written all over my face.

My wretched life

Will I always be damaged goods?

Must I struggle against such tides...always?

Is there anyone out there?

Must I endure such torment and knowledge of my autistic appearance, symptoms and self?

Will my needs forever remain unfulfilled?

Are my true wants never to be uttered?

Are my dreams lofty and unreachable, except within my head?

And where's my gold medal, anyway?

Ah, at least I have stumbled not the wordy center...seems like the alcohol has assisted me into that hidden, highly locked room.

It's mighty...odd, strange and downright bizarre when ones own body resists ones own control.

To be witness to my own bizarity.....truly surreal.

Barkeep, fill me another one of these....my arms grow tired and I am weary from constantly shaking my head and twitching.

Truly, truly, God, why would you make me like this? On hands and both knees, pounding head against the pavement.

I curse, cuss, swear and pound fists with the frustration of years.

I have my own special prison, damn you invisible bars.

I live in a special kind of autistically abused and mentally challenged hell...I try and share...ahh, but you receive, you read but small snippets of thought able to form, words able to pass through three censors and one very big vice.

The iron curtain with manacled fist dotted with meaty spikes...pound, pound, pound

I stand behind the curtain, waiting for my turn, that will never come.

Reality is a butt-ugly bitch. Don't let her fool ya.

I cannot begin to fathom the ease with which some....glide through this life.

My hands bleed from the blisters, scars and spurs.

Dare not speak of happiness, the badass, bitch sister of reality. I chase her, grabbing at her skirt, but she always gets away. Wicked lusty wench.

I starve, my god, how I have always starved. Physically, tacitly, sweetly, emotionally...the stores are always closed, locked and barred be the doors..but They can get in...they lock, only for me...how sweet.

Wtf does someone have to do to get a little nourishment here, folks?

People want to know...have no idea..,what it's like to be trapped in here, in this..,subjected to being able to see everything,the normalcy, grace and ease with which there's get through this fucking fucked up thing called life.

Well..here it is raw, drunk and completely uncensored as the Cesors passed out half an hour ago.

Welcome to the hell that is me....in this pathetic wretched life

I am so fucking honest I scare myself