I don’t feel safe. What was my safe place has been invaded, violated, desecrated. It can be hard for someone who isn’t autistic to understand how vital it is to have somewhere to drop your guard, relax, decompress in the sure and certain knowledge that nobody can get to you, nobody can harm you.
When that refuge is taken from you, you feel as if you have lost a vital part of yourself. The part that kept everything else in order. And you start to unravel as the stress and fear builds with nowhere to go to relieve it.
That is where I am now: I’m sure I’m not quite in my right mind because I’m not able to think things through rationally. I’m acting too impulsively and I worry that I will make some decisions that are detrimental, even harmful to me.
My instinct is to run away. I don’t know where I’d be headed: I just have this animal urge to be somewhere — anywhere — else. What’s left of my reason raises objections: where will I find shelter, what about the stuff I leave behind?
I’ve been asking for help and it has been offered. Accepting it is another matter: it is so hard to admit that there is something I’m not able to do for myself. To throw myself on the charity of others and trust that they will catch me, pick me up.
I have a plan of sorts. On Monday I will get in touch with my doctor, arrange an appointment to see her and ask for help. Counseling or therapy, whatever would best help me deal with my overwhelming emotional state. My fear, my sadness, my anger.
Because it is hampering my ability to function, to live. And I want to live. But most of all I need security. A place of safety where I can just sit and calmly exist.