The gift of raccoons.

A woman at my previous job sent me a raccoon (not a real one!) in the mail after I left. I have no idea what that meant.

Was she trying to be kind or mean?

Did sending me a message of hope or fear?

Had she remembered I liked raccoons?

Was this a way to troll me, an act to show her disapproval of something I’d done?

Isn’t this the person who others told me had me “wrapped around her finger” years ago? Didn’t she trick me in to sending an email that blew up in my face?

Or, what was all that? I’m so confused. Raccoons used to make me happy. Now, they confuse me.

It’s curious how a fake raccoon can cause me so much trauma. Maybe that was the point. I don’t know, but I’m sure some would be thrilled to know it upset me, no matter how well-intentioned the sender might have been. I guess I’ll never know. She’s just one more person in the seemingly-infinite loop of “not to trust” people. I can only sort out so much.

When enough people are telling me not to trust other people, my autistic brain will not work. That’s especially true if I’m having an existential crisis of my own (family).

Fortunately, I don’t have to be around any of them anymore. So, at least I’m avoiding all the “bad” ones, even if I don’t know who they are. I no longer am in the toxic wasteland that once was my sanctuary, pretending to be happy. I can hide. It’s a skill I learned as a child. As long as I get some food and medical attention, I can be alone for a long time.

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