Live Autistic Truth: "every clock is a handgun pointed at my head"

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Content Note: Strong language, mental health struggles, time anxiety

Video Summary

A live piece that cracks open what it really feels like to be autistic in this world.

No sanitized inspiration porn. No academic bullshit. Just the real lived experience. In plain, simple language. With no hidden meanings to decode.

About the time anxiety. The grief. The moments of transcendent peace we may find… alone… in the flow.

Content Note: Strong language, mental health struggles, time anxiety

Key Themes Explored:

* Time anxiety and deadline pressure that many autistic adults face

* Sensory overwhelm from constant notifications and time pressures

* Nature as sanctuary and healing space for neurodivergent minds

* Authentic autistic experience without sugar-coating or toxic positivity

* Mental health struggles with honesty and vulnerability

Who This Speaks To:

* Adults discovering or living with autism

* Anyone struggling with time anxiety and deadline pressure

* People seeking authentic mental health poetry

* Those who find peace in nature and solitude

* Readers interested in neurodivergent perspectives on daily life

Discussion Starters:

* How does time pressure affect your daily autistic experience?

* What spaces or practices help you find relief from overwhelming expectations?

* Do you relate to the contrast between societal time demands and natural rhythms?

Full Transcript

So now, uh, we maybe know each other a little better. Let's cut deeper.

My time, it can't be measured. Not a dimension. It's a force.

A violent force.

every clock is a handgun pointed at my head

III

Every clock is a handgun pointed at my headEvery tick, tick… fucking tickTolling Fear, Doom… dreadClick. Slide. Cock… click.

Every night a mantra echoes through my headTV static… a crazy-making humSinging Dream, Drempt… dead…Not done. Not done. Not done… undone.

10, 9, 8… Dread7, 6, 5… Fear4, 3, 2… BEEP.Shoot the moon… or the country next doorCountdown. Deadline. Bow down… dead.

Bound behind doors, bound in my headPace, paces, pacing… pacedEvery BEEP.Of the phone.Stops…my heart....I crash out with a scream for escape

II

Woods

Deep woods

Deepest woods

My ears flyfrom bird songto bird song.

A raptor circles then spiralsCrossing lines now dead

Wind steals my breathTaking words never said

This skin bag of atmosphereBreathes new air

When the sun risesFirst it is coolThen it gets warmThe day passes

Clouds above my head.Shaped by wind

Outside my bodyThe same wind

Inside my bodyThesameWind

Yet…

I

10, 9, 8… Dread7, 6, 5… Fear4, 3, 2… BEEP.Shoot the moon… or the country next doorCountdown. Deadline. Bow down… dead.

Every clock is a handgun pointed at my head

zero

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