Don't know why I even bothered trying to go back on meds and sign up to start therapy. Should have known I wouldn't be able to. (Very likely getting kicked off insurance.) There's always something ready to squash any chance of happiness, every time. Some pathetic thought that maybe I could be normal enough to be a person. But even without the depression and anxiety I still wouldn't be. I used to see some benefits to having asperger's, but I can't even remember what they were now. Nothing's going to take away the isolation. Can't connect to other people, no matter how much I want to or not. Closest I get to social interaction is saying "hello" and "thank you" to cashiers at stores. No amount of pills or therapy could make people see me as a person, at least not in the way they are. No interaction, just pity at best, sometimes disgust, most of them avoid me. No matter how normal I try to seem, they know I'm not like them, that something's not right about me. And there's no pill, no kind of treatment that could ever fix that anyway.
Don't really know why I'm posting this mess of (probably incoherent) self-pity, but I typed it out so I guess I'll post it anyway; hope it doesn't come across as too annoying.