I cannot respond to messages and say I am okay. I am not okay. I am not okay in any sense you can imagine. I think that a lot of people in a bad situation desire what I think of as real change. That is, they desire change of the kind where people look at the situation and deem it to be unacceptable, then act accordingly. Every protest of a situation that is not acceptable, from those in favour of Australia’s idiot government extending national health insurance to cover disability to Herschel Feibel Grynszpan‘s shooting of Ernst vom Rath, has that goal.
Every situation I was found in since what I will refer to as The Day (this indicating the day a rehabilitation services worker told me I was autistic) has been unacceptable. Have you ever seen a twenty-something man walk out of a psychologist’s office crying because he has expended so much breath asking for help to escape a place that basically treats him as an unperson, only to not be heard? I bet it is quite a sight to those who did get to witness it.
The point is that ever since The Day, people like my male parental unit or the mother that I am starting to relegate to a similar position in my life have been trying to break me. To break me into accepting untenable, psychologically damaging places as the be-all and end-all of my universe. The village that I like to call Cuntborough out loud to anyone who even implies mention of it is the best example of such a place. In Parramatta, I could meet people who spoke several different languages. In Parramatta, I could meet people who had been to places where real Winters occur. The ironic thing, at least in my mind, is that when I was in Parramatta for one stage of my life, I failed to properly appreciate this fact. So I suppose Cuntborough, and to a lesser extent the rest of Cuntsland, can be credited with giving me the context to properly appreciate what I had in context of what I wanted.
I therefore wish to make this known to the extreme pacifists who are hobbling the autistic civil rights movement at every turn. I hate you enough that I do not want to live on a world where you are presumed to speak for me. There are many lines in the X-Men films that match my feelings towards both people like you and the asshole in Cuntborough who wants me to think of him as my dad as opposed to a bully that just lived in the same house for way too long. “No matter how bad the world gets, you want to be a part of it” (Mystique in X-Men: First Class) is a good example. But after the congressional hearings, after the “every autistic individual is going to go and shoot up schools” crap of last month, I think Magneto wins the prize yet again for saying exactly what I want to say to the passives. Go ahead, passives, tell me I am wrong.
Through his narrator in Nineteen Eighty-Four, linguist extraordinaire George Orwell told us something about freedom that I still do not think is readily understood by many. To die hating them, Winston writes in his journal, that was freedom. There are many examples both in history and fiction where this freedom was denied. Whether it was through religion, psychological manipulation, or even medical manipulation, many people have been denied the simple freedom of dying with hate of the oppressor on their lips.
Also worthy of note is others’ knowledge of why you hate your oppressor. The black population of America, to varying degrees, hates the white population. Whether they just hate the white policy-makers and the white enactors of the policies made, or the entire white population as in some extreme cases, it takes a lot of self-delusion or ignorance, probably both, for white observers to not understand why this hatred exists. Hell, after some discussion of the parallels between the situation of both minority groups today, I honestly cannot say that I would not hate me, too. The problem from my side of the story is that very few people do understand why I hate them.
In fact, just making clear who I hate is a difficult process. The word “normie” is frequently used by me in conversation, typically as an insult. Actually, that is not quite the right word for it. There are words some people utter in such a way that just the sound conveys a hatred that most people wish they did not understand. All of the major races in the conflict of America’s Southern states have words for one another whose full meanings and sounds would make the newly-arrived Man From Mars cringe. That, friends and neighbours, is how the word “normie” sounds and feels when it comes out of my mouth.
The problem is, ever since The Day, I have been overwhelmed with a feeling that every person I have talked to about my situation and how to improve it, whether in person or online, has been united in one goal. To keep me from achieving anything, leave alone my goals.
The number of times I have hissed and spat at the bullying worthless asshole who wants me to think of him as a dad that not everyone wants to, or can, live out in what I call the cunt-ry is absolutely mind-boggling. But in truly circular fashion, it is always come back to the country or we will make sure the things that can help you make a better world for yourself will never happen. Yeah, like they are ever going to happen in the cunt-ry, daddy. Yet the entirely of the passives and the people purporting to serve the autistic in general seem to want to keep pushing and urging me to go back towards those people.
There are a number of reasons I do not want to live in your world anymore, passives. But I think the best of them, the one that all others stem from, is simply exclusion. You refuse to listen when I say that simply pleading and whining with the normies for acceptance is not going to work. You refuse to listen when I say that in order to make the normies regard us as actual Human beings, we must prove to them that there are consequences for not doing so. But the biggest part of this point is that you simply refuse to listen to anyone who does not comply with your belief that we should prosecute this war as if we have already won it. The Viet Cong did not behave as if they had already taken Saigon in 1965. The American army and its allies behaved as if it was going to be theirs forever no matter what they did. The outcome of these two parallels speaks for itself.
Put simply, passives and groups like the “reclaimers”, you have given me a world that I do not want to live in, and I am sick of trying to make you understand that. They say that when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. So I am going to exercise my sole option in that respect. I want nothing further to do with you, your world, or any world at all. There is nothing you can do to change my mind anymore.