This should be fun…nothing better than a good ould moan about the aches and pains is there?

The latest addition to the family is spinal arthritis.

The way my memory tells it I broke my leg on Patrick’s weekend 2013 and like Mrs Skeffington, age caught up with me overnight. Of course, in the real world I had already picked up a bad habit on washing my panadols down with cheap Southern Comfort from Aldi and turned up in the Doctors begging for enough heavy painkillers to get me to sleep several months before I broke anything…

These days I am in constant pain in my right hip (good job I broke the left leg which still hurts in it’s own right) and lately my right arm and elbow most of the time too. The more active I am the worse the pain. I scrimp the painkillers because at 57 I am too young for it to be ok to get hooked on opiates. So I try to manage by taking panadol and ibuprophen together most of the time.

The leg…never healed quite properly…they thought I had MRSA for a while (6 months of industrial strength antibiotics, and 4 lower teeth gone with infection) but it was just a reaction to the steel rod, as soon as that was out I was fine…ish…

I always forget my lungs…I have early onset COPD that became symptomatic at 39 but didn’t get diagnosed until I was 42 because it was nobody’s job to help me find a Doctor…something that is almost impossible for me because Doctors were used as threats and punishments for my whole childhood and young life and somewhere along the way I have seen most of the worst the medical profession can do, even historic sexual abuse but WTF…nobody would believe me, all his female patients were swooning over him at best, and with a mind like mine if I didn’t have the sense to slug him I needed the lesson…and it was far from the worst thing even that particular Doctor ever did to me.

…and yes I did even try asking Ruhama in desperation…but, apparently, it wasn’t their job to help me get a Doctor either (too busy junketing)…a woman I knew in New Zealand over the internet (and since lost touch with) found me a GP through her Irish music contacts.

He gave me the diagnosis with tears in his eyes. I haven’t an earthly clue how I quit smoking but I did in within days. People who were in better shape than me but couldn’t quit have died since, but I am still here.

I was born Autistic…I didn’t know…I think I wondered about it sometimes, in a vague way, but I always knew for sure I was very very different and incompatible with people.

I always put it down to having a very high IQ, premature development syndrome (I was an adult woman in every way age 13), and the saturation mental and emotional abuse of the family.

When I was a sex worker I can across so many women with equivalent difficulties (and absence of useful resources and support) who might even be barking mad but were still able to function much more normally than me around other people and everyday situations. I had to wonder why that was. I though it meant I was the world’s biggest failure. So I tried harder and failed worse.  Autism doesn’t respond well to “willpower”.

I find being around people intolerable, and they aren’t to thrilled around me either.

I had broken my physical health twice trying to work for myself making soft furnishings. I hated very moment, I have no aptitude at all for needlework, but, left alone to do it my way I have enough intelligence and patience to work out how to do most things. Making it pay is a different matter. To get round the fact that I cannot “network” I had to undercut everybody. I was working flat out 18 hour days and 7 day weeks with no life outside of that, and not even making enough money to live after expenses.

I tried taking someone on once, but I can’t even function unless I am completely alone so I wound up paying her for weeks to do nothing but get in the way of me being able to keep it together and work, because I will not let someone down. This was not her fault and I am sure she found me very hard work to be around too.

I never stopped seeking help, but for me, to be help it actually has to help me, not just pretend that it will, and the understanding of autism in adults is in it’s infancy and therapeutic approaches invariably fall between useless and dangerous. I am flat out already just to go on functioning. I cannot afford even the slightest extra damage.

Don’t imagine I never tried any of the “available help” and I have more PTSD, and other damage, to show for that…as well as having stumbled over more than anyone could ever wish to know about just how corrupt and self serving “help” can be, and usually is, in every conceivable level. Don’t think cynicism blinds me to the good of it, because once upon a time I used walk into all these things eyes wide shut, believing I had finally found the holy grail, only to unravel the truth in shock and horror.

So I cope the only way I have ever been able to, by isolating myself. I am happy, and everybody else is happy.

Be that as it may I was not even offered any help, just treated as a nuisance for asking…told to stop bothering people, go home and be more grateful I had disability to live on. Even then I knew time was running out and I would soon be too old to get any kind of life together for myself.

The only available help is for people far less intelligent and perceptive than I am. People do not realise this, but intelligence is not backwardly compatible. You cannot commit to a life that depends on “acting dumb” you will never be able to keep it up, the stress is too great, particularly when you are expected to do things you know to be morally wrong, as you always are, you just aren’t expected to notice.

…and you can be as smart as you like and as long as you are autistic you still won’t even have the social skills of an intellectually disabled person and you can’t use what you haven’t got.

Then piled on top of that is all the compound PTSD from the family from hell, the care system, and all the times I could not isolate. I have a whole fresh bout of PTSD from the abuse and corruption of the sex work consultation…and there is not help available for that at all because the name of the game is pretending none of it happened, even though all of it did and I have PTSD to prove it.

…and every born rotten corrupt little scam within the system I uncover as a byproduct of that consultation is another bout of PTSD…see that’s the thing with a mind like mine…you can’t switch it off or stop it working things out…

…and 12 months or so of sleeping cuddled up to a commando knife (I am a lifelong chronic insomniac at best, regardless of how tired I am) because Stormont doxxed me illegally to prevent other sex workers speaking out and exposing their lies, compounded by counting all the people, on all sides who knew how I could get that address down overnight but hate me so much that they didn’t even tell me just enjoyed watching me slowly coming apart at the seams…don’t EVER try to tell me I only imagine people hate me after that.

That isn’t even my fault. Everything about me is subtly “alien”, at first people do not notice, but as they begin to they begin to feel very uncomfortable with me without knowing why. They pick up on my stress at being around them and that makes it worse as they try to interpret their own reaction.

Interpersonal relationships are built from a kind of “question and answer blues” that I cannot play or even fake…because you have to fully understand and relate to the interactive question (in which plain words are only one aspect among many) to be able to extemporise a response in the same terms, terms I can only communicate in on the simplest level and them if I have a chance to rehearse.

People invariably read that as a threat, it’s instinctive to read anything that we cannot relate to as a threat…I do it too…which makes it all far worse, even if I try to hide it. It is a lot easier if people do not notice how intelligent I am. I can create an appearance of being quite sweet and charming, but I can’t keep up any act for long, a couple of hours at most, it takes too much out of me, and I never get to relax and just “be myself” around anyone.

As soon as people notice how intelligent I am I am in real trouble. A damaged alpha is not supposed to survive, one that has survived is perceived as a danger and reacted against blindly, particularly by others who consider themselves to in any way “elite” or “in authority”.

I have to keep my dealings with people to text, phone or as brief as possible. I have to to avoid becoming the target of malice and abuse even from people who might not normally be malicious or abusive. I can avoid that, but there is absolutely nothing I can do to change or renegotiate it. With very few exceptions (that I have gathered around me over the years albeit at arms length, I daren’t push it) people only tolerate me as long as they have a use for me, and being useful to all the people one has to deal with  is not only unfair and exhausting, it is impossible.

…and for light relief I had to come to terms with the fact that the harmless man I hardly noticed in 2007 had probably been lining me up as a murder victim, and moved on to kill someone else and another guy, just as crazy, has me pretty much surrounded by his fake identities and mindgames for reasons I would prefer not to even speculate upon.

Meanwhile one fraud is trying to make a living out of pretending to have been a sex worker alongside me and reinventing 6 years of my life to order and another fraud is trying to make a living out of reinventing “The Duncroft Experience” to include potentially lucrative celebrity sex abuse that could not have happened, and, as it turns out, will never even pay anyone but the lawyers.

Without the welfare benefits I depend on now I will have literally no course open but suicide. I am scared to death, waiting for that axe to fall keeps me awake at night. It has for years. Often I wish it was all over just to relieve the tension

There isn’t even anywhere I could go for help when the worst comes to the worst.

There will not be some sudden miracle whereby I am not tortured unless I can isolate, or where other people are comfortable with me without me having to hide half my IQ..

So that is what will happen. I will find the courage to take my life rather than find out how much damage I can do when I melt down and lose my mind completely. Because for me there is no breakpoint, no rescue to hope for. Even if someone saw sense and cared enough in time to bring me to a place where I could be safe to isolate for good I wouldn’t have enough to pull myself back together to functional levels again.

Until then I go on fighting, any way I can, big or small, to get a better deal for other innocent people who do have a chance at a real life.



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