Story Auto-schism

[lennox]

My life is flipping and turning. This darkness is over me. I want to hide but there is no more shelter. Running from the shame just brings more. Destroyed are my spaces of safety. The debris has stricken the ground and my body and left me bruised— the coping, inevitably, ends. I’ve always been alone. There is no structure, no building, no supports, no institution, no help that could be strong enough to ease this mind. This mind wants to ignore what is out there. I can't ignore it; it has followed me everywhere I go. Rain brings down torment onto me—their torrents strike weakly, but they are ceaseless. The winds are deafening. They howl, words, that which I cannot understand. The pressures to conform, and the forces against my soul are so powerful. They are gusting and pushing me every which way. Still I grip for my life, holding my ground dearly for I may be whisked away to a doom I cannot return. If I could learn to fly— if I became the wind, then I unify myself into something so great, so much larger than I. Nothing forces against me, and I feel I am free. It feels that my only escape is to join this wretched thing. Should this fantastical escape couple me with that which made my suffering?
When I look up, I see the dark, obstructing clouds. As far as I remember they have always been over me.


Here's a short story, narrative, or account I've just written.
I compare my life experiences with autism to a violent storm. I feel inner turmoil, inner conflict- a dissonance. I want to fit in, but my relationship with neurotypical peoples has been damaging. The life where I can make friends and have close relationships is alien.