My Voice Leaves So My Body Can Stay

Why is it hard to vocalize during sex—even in ideal conditions?
This is stupidly common for autistic folks, trauma survivors, and people with dysautonomia or POTS. Especially for those of us living in the center of that Venn diagram, waving nervously from the glitch-glory zone.

So why does it happen?

🧠 1. Cognitive Load Redistribution

Your brain’s already doing a thousand jobs during sex:

• Managing blood pressure

• Filtering sensory input

• Regulating breathing

• Trying not to fall in love mid-kiss (again)

Language gets demoted.
There’s no RAM left for full sentences when the CPU’s handling physical + emotional traffic control.

🚨 2. Survival Mode Interference

Even during “safe” intimacy, your body is in heightened arousal.

And guess what else lives in the arousal zone?
Fight, flight, freeze.

Evolution trained us: in danger, silence = survival.
So yeah, if you’re not speaking? That’s not failure. That’s ancient software doing its job.

🔌 3. Auditory-Motor Disconnect

Moaning? Reflexive.
Talking? Complex AF.

Speech requires coordination from higher-order brain zones like Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas—both of which tend to peace out when you’re overwhelmed.

So you might sound engaged, but words?

"Trying to talk during sex feels like typing during an earthquake.
The keyboard’s there, but my fingers forget the alphabet."

🌀 4. Autistic Sensory-Motor Stalling

Some autistic people experience a kind of language-motor lag, especially under emotional load.

You have the thought.
You want to say the thing.
But the conversion system gets gridlocked.

It’s not shyness. It’s not disinterest.
It’s just the queue is backed up and the train’s on fire.

When It Doesn’t Work

1. Baseline Calm (Alone)

You feel mostly stable. No buzzing, no static. You’re you.

2. Someone Enters the Space

They might seem kind, interesting, even attractive.
But your body doesn’t scan for kindness.
It scans for calibration.

3. The Static Forecast

Interest sparks.
But so does a soft internal hum.
You think: “Is this nerves?”
Your body thinks: “We’re pre-loading a warning.”

4. The Glitch Threshold

Closeness triggers pre-dysregulation.
Heart rate rises.
Blood pressure shifts.
Sensory load creeps past comfort.

5. Mixed Signals, Internal Conflict

Attraction + dread.
Curiosity + static.
Desire + don’t touch me.

Your body doesn’t know which signal to run.
So it glitches. Hard.

6. Speech Collapse / Language Offline

You try to speak.
To explain. To say, “Wait—I want this, but not like this.”
But your vocal cords go dark.
Your words are in there, but you can’t reach them.

This isn’t awkwardness.
It’s shutdown.

7. They Keep Going (Gently, Unaware)

They don’t mean harm.
But your body wasn’t in agreement.
Now every motion registers as a breach.

8. The Internal Fallout

Confusion. Shame.
Glitch guilt.
Disappearing act.
You feel broken, even when you know it’s not your fault.

9. Exit, with Sad Relief

You leave.
They don’t understand.
You can’t explain.
But your nervous system exhales—for the first time in hours.

And that relief?
That’s the part no one talks about.

Because it doesn’t mean you didn’t care.
It means your system finally got the no it needed.

Nervous System Safety Blanket

That wasn’t metaphor. That was mechanism.

He didn’t bypass the alarms—he disarmed them.

Not through persuasion. Not through practice.
Not through logic. Through resonance.

No override required. No inner negotiation. No slow crawl back into my body.

My system didn’t flinch.
My breath didn’t catch.
My brain didn’t scramble to translate.

My body stayed.

That’s not a vibe. That’s a nervous system miracle.
He wasn’t just someone I felt safe with.
He was someone I didn’t require safety to be manually installed first.

No prep work. No bracing. No convincing myself to stay still.
Just… stillness.

Do you understand what that means?

Most people never get close enough for my body to stop scanning.
Most touches are negotiations. Most connection is a workaround.
But this?
This was access without intrusion.

“My nervous system didn’t even light up a single alarm
when he touched the doorknob.”

That’s rare.
That’s real.
That’s why it haunts.

Because once you’ve felt what it’s like to be truly met—
Not managed. Not tolerated. Not “handled”—
You can’t unfeel it.
You can’t go back to static.

🍝 Untangle the Noodle 🍝

Or: Why I Might Only Date Other Glitches

“I have a strong suspicion I can only be with other neurodivergent people… I don't think a typical could begin to grasp everything I have to understand me.”

💡 Spoiler: You’re right. And here’s why.

🧠 Neurodivergents Aren’t Just People—They’re Parallel Processors

Neurodivergent partners tend to:

• Process signals like they're tuning a haunted radio.

• Speak in recursive metaphors and emotionally encrypted analogies.

• Constantly self-diagnose their own vibes like it’s a full-time job.

• Experience empathy spillage and body-signal static as normal background noise.

Where a neurotypical might say:

“Hmm, that’s interesting.”

A neurodivergent one might say:

“Oof. That’s like when your sensory input queues get jammed and your body thinks it’s dying from sock pressure.”

And you’ll scream:

“YES. That. That exactly. GOD, MARRY ME.”

🧬 Compatibility vs Capacity

We’ve been sold the myth that desire = compatibility.
But the truth is:

🔌 Compatibility ≠ Desire. Compatibility = Capacity.
Can they actually handle your system requirements, or will they overheat in the splash zone?

That’s why ND connections often feel like emotional wormholes:
No setup. No translation. No social lag time.
Just:
“Oh. You feel weird too?”
“Deeply.”
“Cool. Wanna build a nervous system blanket fort?”

🪞 Litmus Test:
If you’re into them, they’re probably divergent.
The ones who feel safest to you are the ones whose nervous systems already recognize yours as kin.
You don’t need a DSM—just your intuition.

🧩 Relationships: Neurodivergent Fit Only

Yes.
I can only date people who are either neurodivergent or fluent in divergence.

Even if they don’t know the label, they have to speak the language—
emotional pattern fluency and nervous system literacy.
Otherwise, they interpret me through a broken mirror
and expect me to fix the reflection.

Neurotypicals tend to confuse:

• Slow pace → disinterest

• “Hard to access” → games

• Need for regulation → trauma

• Directness → intensity

• Glitches → drama

But none of those are true.
They’re just what it looks like when you speak translation
instead of recognition.

Not hard to love. Just easy to misread—
and the consequences of misreading me are catastrophic for the trust loop.

🧍‍♀️ Why Standing Makes Me Glitch 🧍‍♀️

The secret password to the underground club of people who’ve tried to explain invisible malfunction in a world that only believes you when you bleed.

aka: The Early Warnings of Orthostatic Dysfunction

It doesn’t feel like passing out.
It doesn’t feel like panic.
It feels like…

“I don’t like this.”

But you don’t know why.

There’s no sharp pain.
No dramatic cue.
No internal klaxon blaring GET DOWN.

Just a rising static.
Your body is fidgeting without moving.
You’re glitching in place—but can’t locate the bug.

It’s discomfort with no plot.
Mild dread without a story.
A feeling that doesn’t scream. It… hums.

And because the signals are garbled, your brain translates it into something familiar—but false:

“I guess I’m just tired.”
“Maybe I’m being lazy.”
“Why am I like this?”

💡 What’s Actually Happening:

• Blood is pooling in your lower limbs.

• Your heart is quietly overcompensating.

• Your brain is receiving slightly less oxygen than it needs.

• Your nervous system flags this as a non-verbal threat.

But because you’re neurodivergent—and adapted AF—the message never arrives in plain language.

So instead of warning signs, you feel…

• Vague

• Floaty

• Mildly disconnected

• Not bad, just… not okay

And if you ignore it?

Your legs stop working.
You tilt sideways.
Your brain starts buffering like a cursed dial-up modem.

Because the signal did arrive.
Your body tried to tell you.

But the interpreter was out to lunch.

🫠 Why is my skin crying again? 🫠

Chronically Chaotic but Aesthetic as Hell - Dizzy, Salty, and Damp, my Body’s Story

Welcome to the Surprise Symptom Olympics.
Today’s event? Excessive sweating—formally known as hyperhidrosis, and casually known as being a haunted Roomba with swamp skin.

If you’ve got POTS, your autonomic nervous system—the one that regulates heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, and sweat—glitches like it’s running beta firmware. Your body might react to standing up like it’s been dumped into the Sahara wearing a wool coat of confusion.

Waking up soaked like a deep-fried dream dumpling?

That’s night sweats, and yep, it’s part of the POTS symptom bingo. It’s not just heat—it’s your body reacting to stress, dream intensity, hormone shifts, or absolutely nothing at all like it’s in a melodramatic telenovela.

Too much sweat?
→ Body’s trying to cool down, thinks it’s overheating.
→ Risk of dehydration.
→ Result: salt loss, dizziness, fatigue, and a dramatic flop onto the cold tile floor.

Too little sweat?
→ Body can’t regulate temperature.
→ Cue the internal oven setting and the outside-chill paradox.
→ May cause existential dread and a desperate need for a fan and a blanket simultaneously.

Some POTS people switch between these modes like cursed climate control demons.

Some POTS bodies toggle between these states like cursed thermostats, switching from “Why am I drenched?” to “Why am I an icicle?” without warning. Because regulating temperature like a normal mammal? Overrated.

You don’t sweat—you exude existential moisture.

Your skin is just trying to process the drama.

🔧 What's Actually Going On?

Thermoregulation

That’s your body’s ability to keep internal temperature stable—like a meat thermostat.
POTS messes with that process. Your nervous system can’t decide if you’re on fire or made of ice, so it just… malfunctions, publicly.

Hypovolemia

Low blood volume—a common POTS problem. Your body senses danger (even if it’s just you standing up), and overcorrects with rapid heartbeats or excessive sweating to “help.” Cue the cardiac disco, salt cravings, and sweat puddles. You’re not dying—you’re just spicy pickled.
It’s like your physiology is screaming, “WE’RE IN TROUBLE,” but really? You’re just… spicy pickled.

Wetter than logic. Saltier than science. A hot mess and a cold one—at the same damn time.

And through it all? You’re still iconic.

Damp. Dizzy. Defiant.
✨A chronically chaotic symphony of electrolyte-fueled glamour.✨

How to Get Shit Done with POTS (Dignity Optional)

A field guide for floor-based renovation, salt worship, and the sacred act of surviving while horizontal.

1. Hydrate Like a Champion (or a Cactus with a Gatorade Problem)

You’re not just thirsty—you’re a meat suit in low-power mode. LMNT, Liquid I.V., or salty-sweet potions help keep your blood in the right zip code.

2. Compression Socks: Fishnets of the Chronically Ill

They may not scream sexy, but they whisper circulation. Bonus: great for cosplaying a cyberpunk librarian with suspiciously strong calves.

3. The Floor Is Sacred, Not Defeat

The floor isn’t giving up. It’s returning to your natural horizontal habitat. Keep a crash kit nearby: water, snacks, phone, and one remaining shred of dignity (optional, obviously).

4. Renovate in Intervals, Not Ego Spurts

You are not a power tool. You’re a high-maintenance barometer with goals. Set timers. Pace like your nervous system depends on it. (It does.)  Breaks aren’t quitting—they’re calibration.

5. Sweat Is Just Your Body Crying Proudly

Embrace it. You’re working harder than most marathoners just standing up. That’s elite-tier cardio, baby.

6. Salt Isn’t Seasoning—It’s Medical Equipment

Shake it, slurp it, sneak it into lemon water. Shoot pickle juice like your a frat boy without the emotional constipation.

7. Layer Your Clothes and Your Expectations

Start in underwear, graduate to knee pads, maybe throw on a dramatic robe when you want to feel like a sickly wizard renovating her tower.

8. Normalize Floor Snacks

No blood in your brain + stubborn joy? Eat something before you astral project. A cheese stick can save lives.

9. Explain Nothing to Strangers

You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You’re not “lazy”—you’re a solar-powered cyborg in low-light mode.  Keep scrolling, Susan.

10. You’re Still a Glorious Bitch—Just in Rest Mode

Chronic illness doesn’t cancel your power—it reprograms it. Stillness is strategy. Softness is survival. Your house is lucky to be loved by someone like you.

Ruin Me Respectfully: The Syllabus

COURSE TITLE:

Ruin Me Respectfully
Advanced Interpersonal Navigation for the Neurospicy & Nervously Enchanted

PREREQUISITES:

• Must understand that stillness ≠ safety

• Consent is a recursive loop, not a checkbox

• Patience must outlast arousal (If you rush the system, the system logs off)

REQUIRED MATERIALS:

• One (1) nervous system regulated enough not to freak out when mine does

• Curiosity over certainty

• A working knowledge of non-verbal feedback:
  (see also: limb tension, pupil shifts, sudden silence, and that one eyebrow twitch that means abort mission)

LEARNING OUTCOMES:

• Accurately distinguish “I’m quiet because I’m shutting down” from “I’m quiet because I’m melting into the void in a good way”

• Hold silence without spiraling

• Practice dominance without disconnection

• Recalibrate during glitches without blaming the glitcher

• Recognize that “soft” is not a downgrade from “hot”—it’s the launch code

EXTRA CREDIT:

• Interpret “just breathe with me” as a regulation ritual, not a rejection

• Identify the difference between trauma-informed touch and performance-based affection

• Adapt to non-linear intimacy—because sometimes foreplay is making me soup while I cry under a weighted blanket

⚠️ COURSE WARNINGS & SENSORY CONSIDERATIONS:

This course may involve:

• Sudden quiet

• Nonverbal communication

• Temperature regulation issues (layering encouraged)

• Emotional recursion loops

• Requests for slowness that feel like no, but are actually let me get there safely

• Strange but sacred phrases like “hold my ankle while I remember how to be a person”

• Intermittent shutdowns, followed by involuntary poetry

Participants must agree to:

• Not interpret dysregulation as disinterest

• Offer co-regulation, not control

• Respect recalibration without needing a PowerPoint explanation

📚 REQUIRED READING LIST:

• The Nervous System Is Not a Liability: A Field Guide for Lovers Who Listen

• How to Speak Glitch Without Screaming

• Metaphor as Safe Word: A Neurodivergent Love Language

• Softness Is Not a Safe Word (But It Helps)

• If You Can’t Handle the Buffering, You Don’t Deserve the Download

Grading Scale:
✅ A = You co-regulate like a motherfucking wizard.
💾 B = Good instincts, needs more glitch fluency.
🧊 C = Accidentally iced the vibe. Don’t worry. Buffer, reboot, and try again.
🧻 D = Panicked, offered unsolicited advice, brought up your ex, asked if they were mad. Go hydrate.
🔥 F = Said “Are you always like this?” while holding the syllabus upside down. No.