The Unchosen One: A Journey Through the World of the Unloved and Unwanted

 The elusive dream of romantic love. A dream that has haunted me for as long as I can remember, taunting me with its promise of connection and intimacy. And yet, it remains a dream, a fleeting mirage on the horizon of my existence.

I have tried, oh how I have tried. I have scoured the dating apps, attended the social gatherings, and even resorted to the desperate measures of blind dates and speed dating. But no matter how hard I try, I am always met with rejection. The polite rejections, the brutal rejections, the rejections that leave me wondering if I am even worthy of love.

The sting of rejection is a familiar one, a constant companion that I have grown accustomed to. But it is a sting that never loses its potency, a sting that cuts deep into the very fabric of my being. And with each rejection, my self-esteem takes a hit, a tiny chip in the already fragile armour of my self-worth.

I am left to wonder, am I not good enough? Am I not worthy of love? The questions swirl in my mind like a toxic vortex, pulling me down into the depths of despair. I am a failure, a failure at the one thing that seems to come so naturally to everyone else.

As the years tick by, I am left to confront the harsh reality that I may never find love. That I may be destined to spend the rest of my days alone, a solitary figure wandering through a world that seems to be designed for couples and families. The thought is a crushing one, a weight that presses down upon me like a physical force.

I am haunted by the fear that I have missed my chance, that I have let the opportunity for love slip through my fingers like sand. That I am now too old, too worn, too damaged to be worthy of love. The fear is a constant companion, a shadow that follows me everywhere I go.

And yet, I hold on to the hope that one day, somehow, someway, I will find love. That I will find someone who sees beyond my flaws, who sees the beauty in my imperfections. But until that day, I am left to wander, alone and adrift, in a world that seems to be moving on without me.

In the end, it is not the rejection that is the hardest to bear, but the silence. The silence that follows each rejection, the silence that echoes through the empty rooms of my heart. It is a silence that screams of my own inadequacy, a silence that reminds me that I am not enough.

And so I am left to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart, to try once more to find the love that has always eluded me. But the question remains, will I ever find it? Or am I doomed to spend the rest of my days alone, a solitary figure lost in a world of love and connection?

Beyond Bodies: Exploring Celibacy in a Sexualised World

In the symphony of a society dancing to the rhythms of intimacy, my existence is a quiet note, a pause in the melody. I stand on the periphery, observing the ebb and flow of connections that seem to define the human experience. Celibacy, a deliberate choice, has shaped my life into a canvas painted with the hues of solitude in a world increasingly adorned with the vibrant colors of shared intimacies. 

Celibacy, for me, is not a lack but a choice—an intentional decision to walk a different path. It's a choice woven from the threads of understanding that emotional closeness carries a weight far greater than the transient pleasures of physical proximity. In a society where connections are often measured in the closeness of bodies, I've found a profound intimacy in the space I've carved for myself. It's not a rejection of love or companionship but a celebration of a different kind of connection—one with the self, with the universe, and with the rich tapestry of solitude.

The mainstream narrative is one of intertwining bodies and shared warmth, a narrative that, at times, feels like a current too swift for my pace. In an age where the value of relationships is often equated with physical proximity, my celibacy becomes a divergence from the expected script. It's a script that I've chosen not to follow, a decision to remain on the sidelines as others engage in a dance that doesn't resonate with my spirit.

The world around me is increasingly sexualized, a landscape where desire is both a currency and a compass. In this terrain, my lack of interest in partaking in the chase might seem like a rebellion—an act of defiance against societal norms that whisper, "You should want this." Yet, it's not rebellion but a gentle assertion of autonomy. I navigate this sexualized society with a quiet confidence, knowing that my worth is not defined by my participation in a narrative that doesn't align with my truth.

Solitude, often misunderstood as loneliness, wears many layers. It's a deliberate withdrawal from the noise, a conscious choice to find meaning in the spaces between heartbeats. My celibacy becomes a lantern in this solitude, illuminating the beauty that exists beyond the conventional definitions of connection. It's a celebration of self-discovery, a journey inward where the complexities of my soul unfold.

In a world where movement is constant and noise is unyielding, the allure of stillness becomes my refuge. The silence within me is not an absence but a presence, a canvas on which I paint the portraits of my thoughts and aspirations. The stillness is not a void waiting to be filled; it's a space pregnant with the potential for self-growth and understanding.

While my choice of celibacy remains steadfast, I stand open to the possibilities that tomorrow might unfold. The pages of my narrative are not sealed shut; they flutter in the winds of time, leaving room for chapters that are yet to be written. There exists a recognition that desires are fluid, and what is true today might evolve into something different tomorrow.

As of now, the physicality of relationships doesn't stir a longing within me. My contentment resides in the realm of emotional closeness, a connection that transcends the boundaries of the corporeal. Yet, I remain receptive to the notion that the winds of change might blow me into uncharted territories, and should that happen, I'll approach it with the same contemplative spirit that guides my celibate journey.

As a celibate soul in a society of intimacies, my narrative is not one of lack but of abundance. Abundant in the richness of self-awareness, in the depth of solitude, and in the quiet symphony that plays when bodies cease to entwine. My choice to stand apart is not an act of defiance but a journey into the sacred realms of selfhood, an exploration of the landscapes that unfold when one chooses the path less traveled. In the midst of a world pulsating with desire, I find my own rhythm—a cadence that sings the song of a soul content in its solitude.

The Face I Wear

 The abyss that is my own reflection. I avoid it as I would a festering wound, a putrid sore that seems to sear my very soul. Cameras, too, are anathema to me, those unblinking eyes that capture the very essence of my self-loathing. I duck and weave, dodging their gaze with a desperation that borders on hysteria.

But it's not just the camera's lens that I fear. It's the mirror's flat, unyielding gaze that seems to mock me with its very presence. I glance at my reflection, and for a moment, the world tilts on its axis. The contours of my face, once so familiar, now seem distorted, like a funhouse mirror reflecting a twisted, warped reality. My eyes, once bright and alert, now seem dull and sunken, like two dying embers.

I've always been haunted by the specter of ugliness. As a child, I'd stare at myself in the mirror, convinced that I was the most hideous creature in the world. My parents' reassurances meant nothing; I was convinced that my face was a grotesque parody, a monstrous aberration. And as I grew older, this self-loathing only intensified. I'd catch glimpses of myself in store windows, on street corners, and in strangers' eyes, and the feeling would wash over me like a cold, dark wave.

But it's not just the physical appearance that bothers me. It's the sense of self, the notion that I am somehow less than, that I am an imposter in this world. I feel like a fraud, a charlatan masquerading as a human being. And when I look in the mirror, I'm confronted with the crushing reality of my own inadequacy.

I've tried to outrun this feeling, to distract myself with work, with hobbies, with the fleeting highs of human connection. But it's always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce like a snake in the grass. And when the cameras come out, when the lights are turned up, and the world is watching, I'm forced to confront this abyss, this chasm of self-loathing that threatens to consume me whole.

And so I hide. I duck and weave, avoiding the mirror's gaze like a rat avoiding a snake. I'm a master of evasion, a virtuoso of avoidance. But even as I flee, I know that I'm only delaying the inevitable. The camera's gaze will find me, and when it does, I'll be forced to confront the abyss once more. And so I go through the motions, putting on a mask of confidence, of assurance, of humanity. I smile and pose and pretend to be someone I'm not, all the while knowing that it's a lie.

But perhaps that's the only way to survive. Perhaps the only way to make it through this life is to don the mask, to pretend to be someone you're not, to hide behind the façade of a man who's whole and complete and beautiful.

And yet, as I stand before the mirror, frozen in terror, I know that it's all a lie. I'm not whole and complete and beautiful. I'm broken and fragmented and hideous. And the only way to make it through this life is to face that truth, to confront the abyss head-on, and to emerge on the other side, scarred and battered and bruised, but alive.

The camera's gaze will find me, and when it does, I'll be ready. I'll stand before it, my mask firmly in place, my eyes blazing with a fierce and desperate intensity. I'll show it the abyss, I'll show it the void, and I'll show it the man who's hiding beneath. And maybe, just maybe, that man will be enough.

Creativity: A Path to Wellness and Self-Discovery

 In the tapestry of human existence, creativity is a vibrant thread that weaves together the colours of imagination, passion, and self-expression. It is a force that transcends boundaries, defies limitations, and has the power to heal the mind and body. This journey into the world of creativity is a path worth exploring, and for individuals on the autism spectrum, it can be a particularly transformative and liberating experience.

The Creative Connection: A Universal Language:

Creativity is not bound by language, age, or circumstance. It is a universal language that speaks to the very core of our being. Whether it's painting, writing, music, dance, or any other form of artistic expression, creativity offers a sanctuary where individuals can escape the confines of daily life and find solace in their unique perspectives.

Unlocking the Benefits of Creativity:

The benefits of embracing creativity are manifold, impacting not only mental well-being but also physical health. Here's how creativity can be a source of healing and transformation:

1. Stress Reduction: Engaging in creative activities has been shown to reduce stress levels. Whether it's the rhythmic strokes of a paintbrush, the flow of words on a page, or the harmony of music, these creative outlets can act as powerful stress relievers.

2. Enhanced Self-Expression: For individuals on the autism spectrum, who, like me, may sometimes find it challenging to convey their thoughts and emotions verbally, creativity provides an alternative means of self-expression. Art, in its myriad forms, allows individuals to communicate their inner worlds with depth and clarity.

3. Emotional Resilience: The creative process often involves navigating challenges and setbacks. This builds emotional resilience and the ability to persevere in the face of adversity, which can be especially valuable for individuals with autism.

4. Increased Self-Confidence: As one hones their creative skills and witnesses the tangible results of their efforts, self-confidence naturally grows. This newfound confidence can extend beyond the creative realm into other aspects of life.

5. A Gateway to Mindfulness: Engaging in creative activities often leads to a state of mindfulness, where individuals are fully present in the moment. This practice can be calming and grounding, offering respite from anxiety or sensory overload.

6. Sense of Achievement: Completing a creative project, whether it's a painting, a poem, or a musical composition, provides a profound sense of achievement. This feeling of accomplishment can boost self-esteem and foster a sense of purpose.

Creativity Knows No Labels:

One of the remarkable aspects of creativity is its inclusivity. It knows no labels or preconceived notions. It is a sanctuary where everyone, regardless of neurodiversity, can find refuge, meaning, and a sense of belonging. For individuals on the autism spectrum, creativity offers not only an outlet for self-expression but also a bridge to connect with others who appreciate their unique perspectives.

Embrace Your Creative Journey

In embracing creativity, we embark on a journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance. It is a journey that allows us to celebrate our differences, harness our strengths, and find beauty in the tapestry of our lives. So, whether you're painting a canvas, composing a symphony, writing a story, or engaging in any form of creative expression, remember that you are not alone on this journey. Your creativity has the power to transform not only your own life but also the lives of those fortunate enough to witness your artistic journey. In creativity, we find healing, connection, and a profound sense of well-being.

On Embracing Creativity: A Personal Journey

 There is an allure, an undeniable pull, to the realm of creativity. It is a world that exists beyond the boundaries of the mundane, where imagination knows no limits and possibilities abound. For me, embracing creativity has been an odyssey of self-discovery, a means to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of my own mind.

I find myself reflecting on the essence of creativity, seeking solace in the act of creation. There is an undeniable allure to the blank page, its emptiness inviting me to fill it with my thoughts, my emotions, my very essence. It is a dance, a delicate interplay between vulnerability and courage, as I confront the fear of exposing my innermost self to the world.

In this journey, I have come to understand that creativity is not reserved for the select few. It is not a privilege bestowed upon the chosen, but rather an inherent human quality waiting to be awakened. It is the birthright of every individual, an innate ability to shape, mould, and bring forth something entirely unique.

Yet, embracing creativity requires a certain surrender, a willingness to let go of preconceived notions and self-imposed limitations. It demands that I silence the inner critic, that relentless voice of doubt and self-judgement. To truly embrace creativity, I have learned to silence that voice, to let go of the fear of failure, and to trust in the process.

Creativity is a journey of exploration, a venture into uncharted territories. It is a constant dialogue between intuition and intellect, a delicate balance of spontaneity and thoughtful reflection. It is in those moments of surrender, when I relinquish control and allow myself to be carried away by the creative flow, that true magic happens.

In the act of creation, I find solace, a sanctuary where the chaos of the world recedes, and I am left with a sense of clarity. It is a meditative state, a catharsis that allows me to make sense of the swirling thoughts and emotions within. Through the strokes of a brush, the tapping of keys, or the melodies that find their way through my voice, I am able to express what words alone cannot capture.

Embracing creativity has taught me the beauty of imperfection. It is in the smudged lines, the discarded drafts, and the experimental brush strokes that I find the true essence of my creative self. It is an acceptance of the process, the recognition that mistakes and detours are not hindrances but stepping stones on the path to discovery.

In this ongoing journey, I have come to understand that creativity is not confined to the realm of art alone. It is woven into the fabric of our lives, permeating every aspect of our existence. Whether it is in the act of cooking a meal, arranging flowers, or simply finding a new perspective in everyday routines, creativity is omnipresent.

Embracing creativity is a lifelong commitment, a dedication to embracing the unknown, to continually exploring and expanding the boundaries of our own imagination. It is a testament to the ever-evolving nature of the human spirit, a reminder that within each of us lies a wellspring of untapped potential.

So, I invite you, dear reader, to embark on your own journey of embracing creativity. Release the shackles of self-doubt, silence the inner critic, and allow your imagination to soar. Embrace the unknown, for it is in those uncharted territories that the true magic of creation awaits. Together, let us revel in the transformative power of embracing our creative selves.

On the Periphery of Perception: A Meditative Exploration of Painting Walls

There is something eerily mesmerising about the act of painting walls—a silent meditation that weaves threads of transformation and introspection. As I stand before a bare expanse of white, brush in hand, I am transported into a realm where time slows, thoughts dissolve, and the physicality of the task takes center stage. It is in this realm that I find solace, a momentary respite from the chaos of the outside world. I invite you to accompany me on a reflective journey, delving into the nuances and revelations that arise from the seemingly mundane act of painting walls.

The process begins with careful preparation, an intricate dance of masking tape and drop cloths. Each step, each measured stroke, carries intention and purpose. As I dip the brush into the pale hue, my mind drifts into a state of suspended animation. The familiar scent of paint wafts through the air, mingling with memories of past endeavors. It evokes a certain nostalgia, reminding me of countless rooms transformed, identities reshaped, and emotions laid bare.

There is a certain vulnerability that arises when faced with a blank canvas—a blank wall awaiting the touch of color and imagination. It becomes a mirror, reflecting back the layers of my psyche. I am confronted with my desires for change, for reinvention, and the simultaneous fear of exposing my innermost self. The walls become a metaphorical threshold, a liminal space where the external and internal converge.

As the first brushstroke meets the surface, the energy of creation reverberates through my veins. It is as if I am participating in an ancient ritual—a quiet collaboration between artist and environment. The paint becomes an extension of my being, manifesting the colours of my emotions onto the walls. In each stroke, I release fragments of my past, layers of experiences, and embrace the freedom to recreate my surroundings.

The act of painting walls becomes an act of reclaiming space—of establishing ownership and asserting my presence. With each coat, the room undergoes a metamorphosis, shedding its previous identity and embracing a new narrative. The walls bear witness to this transformation, silently holding the stories and emotions imprinted upon them. They become a testament to the impermanence of our lives, a reminder that everything is transient, and beauty can be found in the transient nature of existence.

Amidst the repetitive motion of brush against wall, my mind wanders, traversing the corridors of memory and contemplation. I find myself questioning the constructs that define us—the invisible boundaries and societal expectations that shape our perceptions. Just as the walls confine and separate, they also have the power to liberate and unify. They carry the weight of history, collective memories, and the echoes of those who have walked before us.

In the solitude of this act, I discover a sense of agency—a reclaiming of control over my environment and, by extension, my own narrative. The walls become a canvas upon which I can project my hopes, dreams, and aspirations. They serve as a reminder that, despite the chaotic world beyond, there exists a space where I can shape my reality, one brushstroke at a time.

And so, as the final stroke completes the symphony of colours, I step back and witness the fruits of my labor. The walls now breathe with new life, infused with my intentions and a profound sense of accomplishment. In this moment, I realise that painting walls is not merely a superficial act of decoration; it is a profound exercise in self-discovery and expression.

Joan Didion once wrote, "We tell ourselves stories in order to live." And as I stand amidst the freshly painted walls, I am reminded that we also paint our walls in order to live. It is an act of self-definition, a tangible manifestation of our desires, fears, and dreams. It is a testament to our resilience, our innate need to create and leave our mark upon the world.

In the periphery of perception, in the stillness between brush strokes, we find ourselves. We are the artists of our own existence, and through the act of painting walls, we reveal the intricate tapestry of our souls—one layer, one colour at a time.

Autistic Stimming essay

 Stimming is something that's very personal to me as someone with autism. It's the little movements that I make that help me feel calm and focused. Things like rocking back and forth, tapping my fingers, or making odd little noises. These little motions can make such a big difference in how I feel.

For a long time, I didn't know what stimming was or that it was a common trait among autistic people. I just thought that I was weird or that something was wrong with me. So, I tried to suppress my stimming behavior, thinking it would make me more "normal". But the truth is, suppressing my stimming was really harmful to my mental health. It was like trying to hold back a sneeze, and it only made me feel more anxious and overwhelmed.

It wasn't until I learned more about autism and stimming that I realized how important it is to accept this behavior. Stimming is a natural part of who I am, and it's something that helps me regulate my emotions and sensory input. It's a coping mechanism that helps me feel safe and in control.

It's not always easy, though. Sometimes people can be judgemental or misunderstand my stimming behavior. They might think I'm being weird or rude, when really I'm just trying to stay calm and focused. That's why it's so important to educate others about stimming and autism. When people understand why I stim, they're usually more accepting and supportive.

It's been a long journey, but I'm learning to accept and even appreciate my stimming behavior. It's a reminder that I'm different, but that's okay. In fact, it's something to celebrate. Stimming is a part of my identity as an autistic person, and it's just one of the many things that makes me who I am.

Autistic Burnout - what it is and how it feels

 Autistic burnout is a real struggle and something that affects me frustratingly often. It's hard to describe how it feels, but it's like a constant, overwhelming exhaustion that just doesn't seem to go away. I often feel physically and mentally drained, and even the simplest tasks can become impossible to complete.

One of the worst parts about experiencing autistic burnout is the embarrassment that comes along with it. I know that people don't understand what I'm going through and often see me as lazy or unmotivated. It's a frustrating feeling because I want so badly to be able to just snap out of it, but it's not that simple.

Autistic burnout is a result of sensory overload and feeling constantly overwhelmed. It's like my brain just can't keep up with the constant stimulation and it crashes. I try my best to avoid situations that trigger it, but sometimes it just sneaks up on me.

It can be really tough, but I've learned to accept that this is just a part of who I am and that it's okay to need a break. I try to make sure I take the time to recharge, whether it's through self-care or just taking a nap.

If you're experiencing autistic burnout, know that you're not alone. It's important to take care of yourself and not be too hard on yourself. Try to find things that help you relax and give you a break from the constant stimulation. And remember, it's okay to need a break. You're not weak for having this experience, you're just human.

Barnaby J. Tremayne.