What I Found Underneath
A personal restoration in layers
Soul-deep and sharpening
I grew up on contradictions
left to self-soothe with sarcasm
raised to be independent
but expected to stay small
They say sarcasm’s hard for autistic people
but it was universal language back then
we all spoke fluent detachment
some of us needed it as a shield
and I masked so well
I mistook the disguise for identity
The mask blended into me
and it kept me safe
held me together
made me useful
detachment
a drive to get it done no matter the impact
shape-shifting to keep everyone else pleased
You'd never know what it cost
because I didn’t know either
Now the pressure has taken its toll
not from weakness
but from carrying what I couldn’t afford to drop
I held it all because no one else would
because I thought I had to
and failure never felt like an option
So no, I’m not bouncing back
I’m breaking pattern
I’m stepping outside the lines
Trauma is a reflection
and once I saw it clearly
I couldn’t unsee the cost
the erosion
the quiet bargains I made to keep the peace
I’m done offering parts of myself
to systems that only notice when I disappear
Surviving isn’t the goal anymore
My voice isn’t here to comfort
I ask quietly and get ignored
speak plainly and get dismissed
raise my voice and get labeled difficult
only after I collapse do they say
huh
I guess she really was having a hard time
Photo by Wesley Tingey on Unsplash
Truth sharpens before it softens
It cuts through the noise
exposes the patterns
the pressure
the parts of me I buried to stay safe
I’ve never been one to sweep things under the rug
I’d rather sell the rug on Craigslist
and revive the wood floors underneath
I don’t need a reinvention
But a reset
Back to a teen version of me
in scuffed Chucks and an oversized flannel
eyes that didn’t miss much
a voice steadier than it felt
with Aqua Net bangs I wouldn’t last five minutes in now
pure sensory hell
back when I was masking all discomforts
and calling it style
She’s still with me
and I’m finally writing her the ending she deserved
This truth doesn’t need varnish
It needs air
Still contradictory
Still happening