I loathe being an autistic recluse, a man in name though hardly in form. Even to call myself female to male feels unearned. I take testosterone, yes, but make little effort to appear convincingly masculine. My friends vanished one by one, their absence unsurprising. They sought pleasure, abandon, the frenzy of youth. I remained still, inert, with nothing of that world to share.Yet perhaps solitude is not a punishment, but the only space that ever truly fits. To be alone is not a moral failing; it is simply the natural consequence of my being. And perhaps it is for the best.If I am unseen by the world, I am freed from performance. I no longer have to reckon with the body I despise. Within these four walls, only I exist, and so only my own feelings matter. If I refuse to think of my body, if I refuse to look upon it, then in some small way it ceases to exist.In the end, I am only a thought — a shadow of consciousness suspended in silence, untethered, almost dissolving.
>>41245448if it helps this really reads like you have the male autism
>>41245448If you shower and keep your apartment clean ill come hang out
>>41245495I’ll be dead in less than a month.
>>41245495Well this all depends on what you look like now doesnt it
