Keina Daria

People keep telling me how they would never have guessed there’s something ‘not right’ with me, because to them I seem spirited, cheerful, laughing a lot…
What I can’t really explain to them that laughing is my coping mechanism numero uno. That I was brought up in an environment where showing weakness meant pain and humiliation, and that I am known for walking around normally and smiling, with an injured knee and an intestinal obstruction at the same time (after I was laying down on the floor in bathroom 5 mins ago). That my ‘problems’ and chronic stress don’t mean that I am going act all weird when talking to people. In fact, as for many females with ASD, it means exactly the opposite. It means that my body will use every ounce of energy I can squeeze out of myself to appear as normal as I can, and that I likely will talk to them with no memorable for them problems, but then when I leave, or come home, I will feel like my mind is full of acid and will try to hurl it out, even though it is not in my stomach. I will obsessively and uncontrollably replay every second of every conversation in my head over and over, thinking of all things I shouldn’t have said, should’ve said but didn’t, could’ve said differently… and stressing out about every word. Until I can’t sleep. Until I crawl up the walls and want to dig my eyes out. And how I can’t control it, how the only way I can survive it right now is to hide it so deep inside I won’t be able to act on any of my impulses, which means stopping moving at all. And how it prevents me from doing anything else I should or want to be doing, because I have to spend hours sitting in one place waiting for a storm to pass more than half of days I had to go outside.