You know when you, say, bang your shin and you freeze and cradle the affected area, and do nothing until the drowning, blinding pain subsides and you feel like you can move again? There has to be a word for the emotional equivalent of banging your shin, and that response. Seems all I do all day is blunder around, banging my mind’s shin on all the misplaced furniture, sucking in my breath, curling up, and clutching until it washes away. I swear I even see stars the exact same way.

Went out for groceries today. Finally crossed off a bunch of things I’d been waiting to get because I actually wanted them rather than strictly needed them. Got to the register; found I’d forgotten my wallet. On the chagrin march home, got mildly hit on again. So. Generally, fuck.

You see, I’d moved my wallet from where I normally keep it, because of those building inspectors yesterday, and—I. Just. I haven’t done this kind of thing in a long while, because I have my systems to work around my limitations, right. Things are where they need to be. Mess with the systems, and everything goes nuts. First thing in the door, I put my wallet back where it’s supposed to be.

Then I put on a comfortable robe and just ate a fucking block of cheese.

My mother is the kind of person who ruins it for everyone. Like, she’ll carry around this L.L.Bean Boat & Tote the size of an actual boat, and anything complementary she runs across, she’ll dump the whole thing in there until the people just stop making concessions for anyone. Both my parents have severe boundary issues, to a level of pathology where no matter how you explain it, no matter how often, they just keep doing their shit, all the while mocking and badmouthing you for suggesting maybe they could think about someone else’s needs and feelings.

I think a reason I have such touch and personal space issues, when I pick at it—yeah, autistic sensitivity, sure, that. ADHD issues. But also, just. Stop touching me. Back off. I said no. How can I make you understand, stop.

I stopped communicating with her for like a decade because anything I sent her she forwarded to every person in her address book, for commentary that she would then forward back to me. My ex-spouse forced me to resume contact. I cut it off again pointedly within a year. Both people I relied on the first half of my life, so fucking needy, and they just took what they wanted. It wasn’t just me. They were this way to each other, and to anyone else unfortunate enough to interact with them. At least when they were screaming at each other I knew where they were and could be somewhere else.

What I’m saying is, I have never known full, meaningful, practical consent from people with power over my life. Emotional, physical, systemic. The only thing that matters is what they want, and if you aren’t aligned then they’re gonna find a way to take it or make you the villain. The loudest and most indignant person controls the narrative.

So I just, like. You could say I have trust issues. To the point of my brain exploding when someone touches my arm or tries to hug me. I get so confused when I interact with people and, like, they listen to me. Remember basic things about me. Don’t launch off on a tirade at every blunder. Don’t keep score. Ask permission. Ask me how I’m feeling. I’m like. What are you doing? What planet are you from? It makes me so wary. Where are we going with this? What do you want?

I don’t want to be that way. I want to be able to trust people. I want to be able to build a life that I want to live, and populate it with cool people who are earnest and care about each other and have interesting perspective and meaningful principles and ideals. Other people can do this. I shouldn’t have to be exempt.

…

Though yeah, random street dudes can absolutely just fucking stop.