u/Ready-Wing-7165

I recently realized, I find most clothes slightly painful to wear, and am spending a lot of excess energy to turn off my body so I don’t notice.

These are the clothes I feel happy to wear because they feel nice:

• Muji recycleable fleece pullover

• Uniqlo heattech lined sweatpants

• Uniqlo heattech lined pile socks

But they are all for winter and are starting to become uncomfortable to wear. I am wondering, are there any clothes with a similar texture but that are more breathable so it is not very hot in the summer?

I have Autism, and recently realized, I find most clothes slightly painful to wear, and am spending a lot of excess energy to turn off my body so I don’t notice.

These are the clothes I feel happy to wear because they feel nice:

• Muji recycleable fleece pullover

• Uniqlo heattech lined sweatpants

• Uniqlo heattech lined pile socks

But they are all for winter and are starting to become uncomfortable to wear. I am wondering, are there any clothes with a similar texture but that are more breathable so it is not very hot in the summer?

I dreamt of you last night. It was the type that starts in absurdist clarity and mutates into a haze of symbols. Pain, love, the comfort of a heart beat, the solace of you. To a blind man, to stand wrapped in your arms, my head against your chest, is to be suddenly naked. The stark reality of your body against mine. Without vision, the armor of clothing vanishes through pressure, touch.

I woke with the feeling of lying atop a pillar in the desert. A strange, beautiful imprisonment. Too high to ever leave this small cubicle of space, but still with the feeling of wind against my skin. When the sun rises, the man trapped atop the pillar sees it first. When it rains, he is pelted with nowhere to hide. From here, I can see the whole entire world. From here, I can see everything.

My rundown body. I almost discarded him, last night. But in spite of everything, he wants to live. He sent me the imprint of you, your form so impossibly clear I could feel your ribs expanding against my cheek, the feel of your hands gripping my waist, the contour of your torso, through my jacket and yours. You had pulled me so close, I knew you could feel the empty space between my legs against your thigh. Total exposure, my nerves unfurled against the sun, the rain. When I woke, I pressed my face into the worn back of the stuffed animal I carried as a baby. No body but mine, is soothed by the feeling of his threadbare fabric against my cheek. No body but mine, remembers the impossible joy of the man on the pillar, when a bird decides to perch on the ledge for a few hours. My body, he will send any tricks to make me spare him. Oh, I want to live, if only to feel the vestigial imprint of you for a few moments upon waking.

Wake up, wake up! Everything is blindingly clear on the edge of the world. Cool fabric, the blinding sun of coming summer, your laugh, the feeling of pressure against my chest. My small treasures. The bird brings the man on the tower a string, tinfoil, a smooth rock, and they both marvel over it. It is pitiful, but how can I not treasure what I was given? How long can I stand here, exposed to the wind and rain? From here, I can see everything.

That is all. I just wanted to say out loud because I cannot say to anyone in real life. If I hadn’t met him, I would not have realized it was possible to love anyone. Next week, I will move out of my dorm and I am not sure where I will live. I am disabled, and have no prospects for getting a job. I have been debating about killing myself for the past 10 years, as a practical decision. My old deadline was graduation. I am not sure I will still be here in a month. But all that feels like it does not matter right now. I was able to love someone, I will probably not see him again. I am in so much pain, and cannot tell anyone.

There is a small man inside my chest. He controls my body like an anime robot, but he is not very skilled. Usually, my ribs clench down around him, block everything out. The world is so hateful to me. But occasionally, you coax them open. I almost don’t notice. An unfurling like the petals of a flower in the morning. My mother used to point them out to me. Look, the flowers are going to sleep. When we come back in the morning, they will open for the sun. Good morning sun! Blinking in the brilliance of light. The feel of warmth, wind, on my skin.

Infinite longing, you said. The horn solo at Tristan’s death. I shivered. Do you know? I worry you have read my mind. Everyone finds me confusing, I am used to being a closed off artery to the world. The blood of matter flows through everything, except me. Heart attack! So I am startled, when you seem to know what I am feeling. Blood returning to a dead limb of the world. I would love you, even if you never looked at me. But, oh, it makes it so much more painful, to leave you, when you are able to open my ribs like this.

You often sit near me. Not close enough to be sitting together, just close enough for me to feel you nearby. I wonder, how much do you know? You are very good at balancing the room, I think, maybe it is just, you can hear my frenetic, jittering nerves clanging around. This is noisy and annoying, and you know if you sit nearby, I stop crashing around and get quiet. Maybe you are able to see the small man, and are curious why he comes out. Maybe you just know I am afraid, and are being kind. Whatever it is, thank you. I almost never get to feel the sun on my skin. It is unfair, but when you are nearby, I trust the world enough to come out. Good morning, good morning, flowers trust the world too much and get plucked. I am a smart flower. I only peak out when I can hide behind your back.

It has been a rough few days. I almost didn’t make it. I ran out of medicine, and hovered, sweaty and pale at the pharmacy, until the pharmacist told me, gently, that my script had finally came in. My friend left me a message, when I heard his voice, the sound of him opening a door in the background, I almost cried. It made me think of you. Your way of talking when you are trying to tell me something beyond what you are saying. You, my friend, Liszt, Tristan. Trying to let blood flow into my desiccated robot body.

I’d like to play some Bach, I said to myself. Maybe this is all I will do after I leave you. I will become a self-recursive loop, the same passacaglia again and again. Recycling the same blood until it is completely depleted of all nutrients. I am frightened of how close I came yesterday. It is a relief just to lie here, with my ribs open. Your hand on the keyboard. My friend joking about mushrooms. Horns! All glory to God, Liszt’s answer to depression. I do not believe in God. But it is a blessing to sit in the sun with my ribs splayed out. I am trying to stay open, let as much blood, wind, flood in, as I can.