#suicidecw

[goodgriefgoodlife]

five interesting readings i did this week 📚

Chapman, R. (2020). The reality of autism: On the metaphysics of disorder and diversity. Philosophical Psychology, 33(6), 799–819. https://doi.org/10.1080/09515089.2020.1751103

Eco, U. (2015). How to Write a Thesis. The MIT Press.

Green, J., & Shaughnessy, N. (2023). Autistic phenomenology: past, present, and potential future. Frontiers in Psychology, 14. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2023.1287209

O’Halloran, L., Coey, P., & Wilson, C. (2022). Suicidality in autistic youth: A systematic review and meta-analysis. Clinical Psychology Review, 93, 102144. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cpr.2022.102144

Molina, N., Viola, M., Rogers, M., Ouyang, D., Gang, J., Derry, H., & Prigerson, H. G. (2019). Suicidal Ideation in Bereavement: A Systematic Review. Behavioral Sciences, 9(5), 53. https://doi.org/10.3390/bs9050053

[borneofshoal-blog]

annoying that i won’t kill myself because i keep thinking life will get better and i’ll feel better. what if it never does?

[ponder-osapine]

Coming home To the fall leaves The deciduous trees The full cupboard of processed food I am still processing Putting on the old expectations Like hand-me-down clothes From friends, gently worn That used to be the joy of the month Strewn from their cardboard boxes All over the living room dust-brown carpet I could pick the boys’ clothes My parents were fine with that Because I would always be their perfect daughter. I slept in this morning Because last night I couldn’t sleep I was hating my body For its unexpected function Of loving and missing my new family, my new home I was paralyzed with fear. So I have not moved today I have been spending all my energy on fighting the inclination To run, Running out those calories and minutes of inactivity Running out of time like a coin-operated ride slowing down. To do push-ups, Pushing away the progress I have made Pushing myself up to old standards. My mom texts me, Will you go on a bike ride today? Putting on the old expectations Like hand-me-down clothes My productivity is all that I used to value What have you done today? Your homework Your lab report My hands have been shaking Too much to hold the pencil to write my fate for the day I hold on to control even tighter the more I let go Like the taut rope tethering a flying kite to the ground and my dreams with it Or like the sagging curve on the axes of time and amount left That shows a graph of a chocolate bar rationed out over months Each nib divided in half and half again So the sweet taste never fades And the calories never add up Last night, I couldn’t sleep Because I was delivered an ultimatum: “Rebecca, we think it’s great you are protesting But it’s just not safe With those anarchists on the streets And we sent you out there to get a degree Unlike your housemates, you see, You will have a future and a pedigree. They can take risks And that makes us scared You are living with these extremists So politically active Even something dangerous could seem moderate.” Yeah, their lives are on the line every day For being unafraid to be Muslim, immigrant, gay They tear our their throats To declare their human rights Only safe during those loud nights Standing together and strong In front of flashing red and blue lights Arrest is the least of my worries “But Rebecca, don’t you know you will be in more danger in jail? You will be targeted there For your short hair You are shaking with despair But we only want what is best for you Because you will always be our perfect daughter” Even though my pronouns are they/them/theirs I have stopped cringing as my identity is eroded Each misgendering is another grain of sand Washed off the granite cliff Until the mountain of my confidence turns back into a molehill And I am once again their perfect daughter Prioritizing my studies Insulated by the notebook paper and scholarships and brick walls Of the institution profiting off my curiosity, my productivity, my proclivity for creativity Just a brain in a suit getting the school’s name more credit Getting the family name more credit Giving my gendered name more credit So all my mom’s book club buddies can praise Her perfect daughter While I was away at school this fall My brother grew another few inches taller But his pride can ever only fit into My father’s 2x4 pine box of masculinity My brother taught me yesterday what he learned about applying makeup Thank goodness for the power of the Internet so he can find escape from a house that was only safe for his crown and cape when I could be home to keep my parents at bay But he can’t wash off the mask he wears to school He can’t wipe away how disgusted he is with his classmates’ privilege He can’t clean up the years of being told to hate himself And he doesn’t wear bright colors anymore He wears the hand-me-down expectations I gave him In muted tones of college walls and rusted medals Yesterday I saw my grandfather But I don’t think he saw me I don’t think he recognized me I don’t think I recognized him I don’t think I recognized me What does it mean to be alive But unseen by everyone you love To be unheard Because you can’t make the words To cry out for help My parents are working out the details To put him in a home Of beeping machines And nurses who pretend to care Tending to another number on a clipboard Who can’t ask for what he really needs Because a home is just a house without loving company Our friend walked into the woods last month And never came back He left the house that used to be his home They found the body three days later He could survive the woods But he couldn’t survive The pressures of society, the expectations of fatherhood, the oligarchy, the patriarchy, the system that made him work overtime to keep his family alive I gave his daughter my hand-me-down clothes My parents gave her the expectations to try on with them What is good To live for When home is a place For your dead face Dead mask Dead purpose Dead task Dead name When home is only a refuge For my parents’ perfect daughter But not for me.

A poem I wrote over Thanksgiving break. Coming home from college is hard when I changed but my parents’ expectations of me did not.