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Message to Readers

Thanks to Anne Blackwood and mia_:) for encouraging and inspiring me to share my story. I can really relate to yours, even though mine is more 'my mind is a mess' than 'why isn't my body cooperating', but I've been both places.

Also I am aware that Autism, ADHD, and Asperger's does not mean you are stupid or wrong. You're all strong, brave and beautiful souls. Many who have Autism, ADHD or Asperger's are very clever and they are the ones who usually change the world for the better :)!

However 13 yr old me did not know that ;)

Love you all <3
.
Also, to anyone who’s gone through the confusion of misdiagnosis, I know how hard it sucks, but you’re all strong and special. <3

The Story of How I Came To Fist-Bump Dear Old Death

May 11, 2020

FREE WRITING

3
 

I
               I was the fae child amid the others
              Twirling to the beat of wings in the crystalline air
        Small beings would come out and welcome me at night
        Pattering into their blue automobile, rumbling their way up my legs

   They would come out and play
   With my wires
I had to lay still; otherwise- otherwise stuff would happen

               I never really was lonely as a child
 On those nights I lay stone still
                               "You may come now I won’t look."

II
When I turned seven, my parents took us on a trip to Jordan.
Amid the tangy clementine fruits and sharp mint
                Time crossed and knotted
            Crafting a ticking time clock.
      Waiting waiting
The first tick echoed loud the first time it happened.
 
“Mor!”
There wasn’t a ginormous bee on the wall after all.
But I know there was
                         It shot venom through my veins and lay in wait
 Festering

III
 “It did happen.”
     I am nine and my windswept hair sighs lightly as the wind tugged it along a strong current.
     We are sitting on the sidewalk
“No, it didn’t” my sister laughs in the shrill voice only children know
      Our pink and purple dresses dance in the breeze.

                       The clock tocks a second time.

                                                             Tick Tock
 
“It did.” I say and the matter is swept away by the antics of our midnight cat
We shriek in delight as it rolls over
     Mine has the faint trace of a late-night gale

(III)
I sit on box filled with old shoes and memories
My grandmother and mother putter about in the kitchen.
Their laughs carry along to me
I hunch over, praying

                               “ يا رب أرجوك, ما تخليني أراجع ”
Oh, God, please, don’t let me throw up.


     The sink winks in the sun spilling in the windows

 IV
It is late night and Death plagues my nightmares
Shadowy figures laugh at me from the sidelines.
            My sister cocks her head
            Her nightdress flutters in the pull of the air conditioner.
                     “Can I join too?’
 
We pass the night in stories of hares and bears
And tales of dark dark caves
 
Death stands back for the brief second
The clock though,
                The clock it ticks on
 
V
My fingers dance over air
Anything to silence the ticking which has grown unbearably loud
             “You’re weird”
                                     I laugh tightly.
             “I’m not.”
 
Doubt slides in the crevices like thick sticky oil
      Tick
              tick tick
                              tock

VI
The doctor sighs as she check their databases.
Her headscarf shines under the harsh light
I sit, staring stubbornly at the painted walls
          Ariel stares back at me
          Her eyes look dull and lifeless
          Yet her smile paints her face happy.
 
                            Ariel’s stupid anyway.
Nobody knows her story
   It shines clear as day.
      If they only read Andersen’s tales before seeing what’s in front of them.
 
            “She’s been here last week. There’s nothing we do.”
                   
            I shiver.
                   Ariel winks.

VII
The dam snaps.
The venom had lain long enough
It was time for the sky to come crashing
   D  o
           w  n

The bell rung and the cuckoo shot out
            Cuckoo
                        Cuckoo


(VII)
             Diagnosis are thrown around, meaningless
        Shard of glass-like letters rain down on my soft skin
                         I watch as they cut me
                         Ink pours out
"Autism, ADHD, Asperger’ s"
I scoff
                   I’m not stupid, not wrong.
I stare incredulous at the pictures shoved at me
The math problems

                       “Where’s the happy face?”
                “Can you solve 2x2?”
 

My thirteen-year-old self-watches on as my body answers the way they want me to.
       The cuckoo cackles with glee at the whole affair.
 
I resign myself to shapes of black on white.
After all, it’s always the easy way to let others do the thinking for you.
 
                         Until the paper tears

VIII
The lady smiles at me
“How’s it going?” she would ask
I shift, uncomfortable.
       I hated her.
       You don’t know anything.
I would cackle along with the cuckoo, as we danced with the poppies
“Fine.”

(VIII)
That lady poked at sleeping monsters
Prodded the overgrown corners
Deleting the shapeless words
She picked up the glass
             “You’re normal.”

                          I laughed with glee
                          I was not

    But I wasn’t diagnosis on paper either anymore
             My wings tittered with joy
             They shone with with a thousand colors
                 
I still hated her.

X
The clock ticks a melody
I fist-bump Death
I laugh along with the cuckoo and weave yarns among the shadows
I sail the oily waves
               A dark crow named ‘emetophobia’ watches on
Occasionally we poke each other
Only sometimes though
He tells me its only to spice things up a bit
               “You’re an idiot,” I say with a clenched jaw
                He laughs

            I like to think it’s fond
(X)
I like to write stories of olden times and forgotten days
The monsters yawn and point out my mistakes
I can curse in five languages; it is useful now as I wince
The cuckoo sun shines from the light sky
The clock sings of birdsong and rushing rivers
The crow still flies about somewhere
I scratch my nose
Going back
To reread
And edit
This


                                    “Hope you enjoy,” the crow calls sarcastically from where it is sat
 
             
                                                        
Hope you enjoy indeed ;)

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  • May 11, 2020 - 10:03am (Now Viewing)

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4 Comments
  • Deleted User

    Aw thank you, mia! Your words are so kind. High-five to you too <3 *claps back*


    7 months ago
  • mia_:)

    Wow! You told your story in such a beautiful, flowing way! Your formatting never ceases to amaze me! Glad I could help inspire you to tell this story, which you did in the most beautiful way! I agree with Anne. It's hard to tell your story, so high-five for doing it anyway! *claps* <3


    7 months ago
  • Deleted User

    Thank you so much, Anne, that really means lots.
    It feels refreshing in a way to tell it in a poem form.
    Kudos to you for giving me the first push needed <3!


    7 months ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    I am honored to have inspired such a beautiful story, and I'm so proud of you for telling it. <3


    7 months ago