Too Much

You tell the earth not to quake
The longer I hold it at bay
The more savage the shaking

You order the sun not to shine
In the long, frigid night
You cry over withering vines

You curse the wind not to blow
In the eerie silence
You whimper lonesome and forlorn

You claim I am “too much” with
No elaboration or recommendations
When I cease to share my inner world
You ask why I’ve changed from
The person you once loved

I reply with the unvarnished truth
Your unreasonable demands
Have been your undoing
You can’t construct paper boats of Theseus
Then happily sail the seven seas with them

K.B. Silver

I've never been told to just be myself. Instead, I've been told I must change everything about my physicality and personality if I want to be liked. I tried to change, to be quieter, less focused on my own interests. I tried to wear the clothes other people do, watch the shows, and eat the foods other people like, only to discover it hadn't gotten me anywhere. Even if I didn't know I was autistic, everyone else could readily see that I wasn't like them and inherently rejected any attempts I made to fit in. All I had gained was a huge hole in my life where I should have been. Once I had replaced every part of me with other people's expectations, I crashed. Wrecked and drifting, I had to rebuild myself and chart a new heading.