Something very traumatic happened to me in summer 2021. I developed post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and practically my entire life ground to a halt. I already regularly see a mental health professional who specializes in treating autistic adults, normally a few times a year. But since what happened, I now have weekly counseling sessions. Whatever recovery there has been is slow and painful.

Counseling has helped me gradually come to grips with the fact that I was severely psychologically abused in a public place by someone I'd known and trusted for almost a decade. He always used to treat me well, until...suddenly he didn't, and he never did again. And then, practically overnight, I lost...one of the most important hobbies and communities in my life, in a particularly ugly and nasty whirlwind fashion. It ripped me in two, and I've never felt whole since. It took me months just to internalize that what happened, actually happened. And I still desperately want...answers, closure, peace, and an end to grief.

To this day I haven't been able to summon feelings of anger about what happened, but that's one of the only silver linings to come out of this, and even then it's been suggested that feeling no anger whatsoever may not altogether be a good thing. Otherwise, I haven't had a moment's peace with my own thoughts, or a good sleep, and I feel sick to my stomach every hour of every day. I haven't even been able to experience any joy in my life, at all. It's called anhedonia. I still know everything I like, but I haven't been able to enjoy any of it.

I tried writing a journal post to describe all these things in greater detail, but truthfully...nothing I could write here can describe it better than this letter to an old friend. I was advised in counseling to write it, deliver it, and eventually post it in public as part of my healing. The letter is written as an open letter, and describes what happened to me, and what I've been advised in counseling about what happened.

The letter was never delivered. But I should be very clear that I'm not asking for its random delivery now. The whole problem with finding a way to deliver it, has been how to deliver it the right way. Respectfully, from a friend, to someone who will receive it. If he reads it, I want it to be under the right circumstances. There are too many wrong ways to do that, and not enough right ways.

But in any event, I've still been advised to eventually post the letter in public, delivered or not, because what happened to me happened in public, and I can only own my own memories in public by talking about it in public. Beyond this, I don't know what to expect or hope for, but I won't know until I try. I can't say I'm not terrified.

Regular counseling continues.