I was accepting being everyones problem, bd one, out of contol or crazy. But I am not those things, I am autistic and never treated.

...working on not being the antagonist.

...today I sulk, write and let the thoughts win because I just don't feel lik fighting them.

The greatest question there is. Who the fuck are you? Who am I? 40s for me are starting off wild. I am having so many revelations about my childhood and myself. Therapy must be part of the reason, but it was happening before. The mid life crisis perhaps. I am 42 and I still don't know who the fuck I am. Do you? I think we all hide who we truly are to some extent. For me, though, I mask every part of me. 42 years of feeling uncomfortable, not ok, alone and, well, lets just say

The night sweats an terrors are fuckin real , yo. Is it all just trauma resurfacing?