I’m writing this from somewhere low,
where basic thoughts don’t land,
where tomorrow feels too far away,
and today won’t leave my hands.
My head feels like a cave inside,
cold walls and dripping stone,
with bats made out of racing thoughts,
all screaming on their own.
They bounce around and hit the walls,
then come back twice as loud,
I’m stood in there with no torch on,
just trying to make sense of the crowd.
My body’s not just tired now,
that word can fuck right off,
this is bones full of wet cement,
and every wire gone soft.
Heavy eyes but still alert,
like sleep is taking the piss,
lying there with nothing left,
but somehow wide awake in this.
No hunger sitting in my gut,
no plan beyond the hour,
even food feels like a job,
and chewing takes more power.
My skin starts itching just because
my nerves have joined the scrap,
my chest feels tight, my legs feel weak,
my brain’s a broken app.
Autism wants the world shut up,
no voices, hands, or plans,
no small talk dressed as kindness,
no demand with open hands.
It wants the blanket crushing down,
the weight across my chest,
like pressure might pin me in place
and force my head to rest.
But ADHD’s still kicking off,
throwing chairs around the room,
900 tabs all loading shit,
then crashing in the gloom.
It says move, but gives no petrol,
says start, then steals the key,
says do the task you’ve dodged all day,
then laughs and hides from me.
I’ll need a piss for 3 hours straight,
just sat there like a clown,
knowing full well I need to move,
but the signal won’t come fucking down.
That’s not lazy, that’s the wiring,
sparking out behind my face,
it’s wanting life to carry on,
while I can’t even leave my place.
The mask still gets dragged on somehow,
for work, for kids, for mates,
for socials, strangers, family,
and all the smiling gates.
I do the nod, the joke, the voice,
the “yeah mate, I’m alright”
then sit alone and feel it crack
when no one’s there at night.
Being dad still matters most,
so guilt comes in with boots,
kicking through my ribcage hard,
then blaming me for my roots.
I want the gym, I want the road,
I want my music loud,
but burnout has its filthy hand
wrapped round me in the crowd.
It’s robbed me of the simple stuff,
the shower, food, replies,
the message sat there waiting
while shame looks through my eyes.
People say, “just take a break”
like that’s some magic trick,
like my brain came with a switch
and I’m just being thick.
But this is not a cosy rest,
no bubble bath, no simply cooked tea,
this is my nervous system
going on strike inside of me.
Every emotion’s got a face,
and every face talks shit,
anger’s pacing round the cave,
while shame sits chewing it.
Fear is asking stupid things,
sadness hums beneath the floor,
numbness stands there saying nothing,
frustration punches doors.
And me, I’m somewhere in the middle,
half bloke and half bad weather,
trying to keep my life from falling
while my parts don’t work together.
Even writing this has cost me,
I’ve scraped it out my chest,
borrowed strength from hidden stores
that probably needed rest.
But someone else is sat there too,
with blinds shut all day,
thinking they’re just useless now,
because their brain won’t play.
So this is for the burntout ones,
with dishes near the sink,
who stare at simple messages
and lose the will to think.
For those who cannot face the noise,
but cannot stop the mind,
who need the world to leave them be,
but hate being left behind.
I’m not recovered, not fixed up,
not standing proud and clear,
I’m still inside the bloody cave,
just proving I was here.