I held it together for as long as I could Stacked the plates, kept them spinning Answered the emails, made the calls Smiled at the right moments Laughed on cue I was so good at functioning Until I wasn't It doesn't happen all at once It's not dramatic No breaking point you can point to and say "There. That's when it happened." It's just... One day you can't get out of bed And you don't know why Because nothing specific happened You just ran out Out of energy Out of words Out of the ability to pretend That you're not drowning In a life that looks fine from the outside THIS IS THE CRASH WHEN THE BODY SAYS "NO MORE" THIS IS THE CRASH LYING ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR COULDN'T KEEP THE PLATES SPINNING COULDN'T KEEP THE MASK ON THIS IS THE CRASH AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO COME BACK FROM The shower feels impossible Making coffee feels impossible Putting on pants feels impossible Existing feels impossible People say "self-care" Like a bath and a face mask Will fix the fact that I've been running on fumes For thirty-three years (Building frustration) People say "you just need rest" Like rest is something I'm allowed to have Like rest isn't a luxury I gave up when I learned to survive I don't know how to stop Without crashing And I don't know how to crash Without feeling like I'm failing But the body doesn't care What you know The body just stops THIS IS THE CRASH WHEN SURVIVAL BECOMES TOO EXPENSIVE THIS IS THE CRASH WHEN YOUR BRAIN GOES DEFENSIVE SHUTS DOWN EVERYTHING NON-ESSENTIAL WHICH TURNS OUT TO BE EVERYTHING THIS IS THE CRASH AND IT DOESN'T FEEL LIKE HEALING FEELS LIKE DYING Autistic burnout doesn't look like what they show in movies. It's not a breakdown. It's a shutdown. Every sound hurts. Every light burns. Every interaction costs more than you have to spend. You stop answering texts. Not because you're mad. Because reading them feels like running a marathon you didn't train for. You stop showering. Not because you're depressed. (Okay, maybe you're depressed.) But because the water feels like violence against your skin. You stop eating regular meals. You stop leaving the house. You stop pretending you're okay. You just... Stop. And everyone asks "What happened?" And you don't know how to explain That nothing happened. Everything happened. Thirty-three years of everything Just caught up all at once. You can't "self-care" your way out of systemic exhaustion. You can't "rest" your way out of a nervous system that's been in survival mode since you were seven. You can't "positive thinking" your way out of AUTISTIC BURNOUT FROM A LIFETIME OF MASKING THIS ISN'T LAZINESS THIS ISN'T WEAKNESS THIS IS MY BODY PROTECTING ME FROM MYSELF BY FORCING ME TO STOP THE CRASH THE CRASH THE CRASH I held it together Until I couldn't I functioned Until I couldn't I masked Until I couldn't I survived Until survival Started killing me (Final Chorus - quiet, defeated, accepting) THIS IS THE CRASH AND IT DOESN'T END WITH TRIUMPH THIS IS THE CRASH AND THERE'S NO MONTAGE OF RECOVERY JUST LYING HERE LEARNING THAT STOPPING ISN'T THE SAME AS GIVING UP THIS IS THE CRASH AND MAYBE THAT'S OKAY MAYBE I NEEDED TO CRASH TO LEARN I CAN'T KEEP LIVING THIS WAY I'm lying on the floor And I'm not getting up yet Not because I can't But because I finally learned That sometimes Lying on the floor Is exactly where you need to be The crash doesn't fix anything But it stops the spiral It forces the rest You'd never give yourself This is the crash And I'm still here
