The crisp morning air rips through my skin, as I lean against the cool brick wall. How could this have happened? I can feel the blood fighting against my fragile pale skin, as I remember the voices.
“It doesn’t change anything." they assured me calmly. As if they knew.
“Many people have had successful careers despite this obstacle.” They tried again when I stared determined at the painfully white floor on that warm August day. They were mocking me I was sure of it. Making fun of my hardships to get a good laugh. It couldn’t be true. It wouldn’t have taken fifteen years to diagnose.
“This means we can help you now that we know what’s wrong.” Still staring at the floor I fought the stinging behind my eyes, I would at least leave with the small amount of dignity I had left.
“This isn’t a big deal.” They continued. My shameful shock had turned into blinding rage in a nanosecond. If it wasn’t a big deal why were they acting like it was? They don’t know anything about how I feel or how I function. From there on the words ricocheted off my ear canals as white noise. I didn’t want to listen to their cruel joke anymore. It couldn’t be true. They were wrong. They just want to justify my fears. It’s a joke to them. The next hour I spent staring angrily at the floor before I had the chance to exit the building. As I left that day my body was on auto-drive and my brain was on lockdown. That day was the last straw. I haven’t been searching for happiness anymore. It is clear God doesn’t think I deserve a smile in my soul.


Now my breath quickens as I remember the moment when the word that altered my reality was uttered carelessly out of her mouth. As if she was oblivious to the identity she had taken from my grasp just as I was figuring who I was. She drowned me in ice and then justified my shivers. Things hadn’t been even remotely decent for a long time but at that moment I knew, they would never get better. It is embarrassing enough to be the kid who balls her eyes out when we give oral presentations in school, but it was worse to be the kid with the mental disability who couldn’t talk to anyone. Still a year later the pain is fresh. Nothing is the same I walk the halls of whispers and glances with a hope that plummets to the center of earth. The tone of voices like an adult would speak with a toddler are spoken towards me, a sixteen year old girl who is completely capable of understanding the words they’ve strung together and have thrown in my direction. I don’t need their help. I was passed off as extremely shy for 15 years, I learnt to deal with my anxiety on my own terms. My coping methods can’t just be thrown away like spoiled milk once someone realizes I’m spoiled.


Mornings are silent. It’s why I like them. No one there to judge, no condescending voices, not even a single distracting noise, here I can think. Here I can be myself even though I don’t know who that is. I have always defined myself as the anxious quiet girl who has a passion for music and jeans a size to big. Now I’ve been told my anxiety is a symptom and being socially awkward is a symptom. The only two things I can always remember having they want to take away with therapy and pills. As though an antidepressant and a therapist will wash away all my problems. I’m still a kid full of passion and pain stuck inside a world full of judgment and hate. I don’t want to be here. I’ve never wanted to be here, not in my memory. Well-dressed men are starting to walk past me on their way to the office; it’s time for me to go back home. My quiet moment has been brought to an abrupt end. For the next 23 hours I will go back to my pain and sadness until I can think clearly alone tomorrow. I love being alone; I am never lonely. I thrive in the silence and the solitude. I will always be an introvert, they can’t force me to change. They just don’t like the fact that I don’t fit in this world. There is no place for people like me, who just can’t talk to a stranger or sit in a classroom full of talkative teenagers. Doesn’t the noise make anyone else’s head go fuzzy? It’s as though my brain processes every noise in range without letting me focus on just one.

My pain starts with the obnoxious sunrise and ends in the depths of my vocal cords. I will never be like the others. The ones who can talk until the sun sets or sing center stage. Don’t those kids feel the lasers of the audience’s eyes cutting into their flesh? Those lasers rip out my lungs and take my heart through my ribcage. The only thing I’m a star at is sitting alone with a good book. That requires absolutely nothing from my social skills; I like that. Today however is about to begin with my enemy, autism. A battle that will never be won, it has already stolen the personality I could have had. Now I am left with it’s symptoms and a love for music so intense sometimes it’s the only thing that makes me happy. Autism has ruined my chances to fit in this world and it has buried my soul with my happiness. It has left me with a pain in my chest and a twist in my gut. It will never leave; it’s too stubborn to give me a moment of joy. I’m just a kid without a personality. An empty body filled with blood.