Last night was a struggle, as always. My younger brother, Lumor, cradled in the paws of sleep but I could hardly close my eyes even though my body was exhausted beyond limits. When sleep eventually welcomed me, it felt like day broke as soon as I shut my eyes. But that was the least of my worries.
People judge me by my weaknesses- which are many; some of those who laugh at me are fat, others are as black as coal. Some even appear awkward with their hairstyles as they point fingers at me and whisper to themselves. The external attributes may be what I see first when I meet them, but they’re more than just that, aren’t they?
So why can’t they see me as a complete person with feelings, thoughts, preferences, talents and dreams?
Mummy wakes me up in the morning. She worries about me. What she does not understand is that my senses are out of sync. Ordinary sights, sounds, smell, taste and touch are downright painful for me. My hearing is hyper acute.
The volume on the radio although low resonates like a loudspeaker in the walls of my ears. I am different. I experience life with an intensity and richness most people can’t seem to grasp. My sense of smell is highly sensitive.
My parents think I am difficult. Scented soaps are the worst; it’s as if I’m bleeding from my nostrils when they hit my nose. The bulb is not only too bright, it seems to blind me. The objects around me seem to be moving and now I cannot even tell where I am in space. After endearing the struggle, I manage to finally get ready for school. This is my routine every single morning.
In school, my madam seems to hate me. She constantly berates me. She claims I am “antisocial, extremely aggressive and act up too much”. She is right, but the truth is that I do not understand myself. My teacher would rather teach the allistic. I wish she could just have a glimpse of the world through my eyes! It looks like I don’t want to play with the other kids, but I simply do not know how to start a conversation or join their play. I realise I am different from them. I wish my madam would teach me how to play with them. I wish she would encourage them to invite me to play along. I wish she would come to realise that I cannot learn in an environment where I am constantly made to feel that I am not good enough.
Soon, it is lunch time. I sit quietly and wait for my food. Then I start crying hysterically. The food never delays this much. Why is the norm different today? I do not know why, but the slightest change in routine stresses me out to no end. Annoyed by my tantrum, my madam threatens me with a cane but this only jams my brain up the more! I am confused. Why does she not know the reason behind my tears? Does she think it is intentional? Luckily the food comes soon and I eat in silence like everyone else.
After school, I join the bus home. Mummy comes to pick Lumor and me from the bus stop. She screams, “Yaw, how many times should I tell you to stop playing with your fingers?”
My ears are not deafened to instructions. It’s that I cannot understand her. She needs to distinguish between “I can’t” and “I won’t”. Repetitive behaviour is a part of me I simply can do nothing about. Can she just understand it that way?
Thankfully, it starts to rain just when we get home. I love the breeze and the liberation it spills over me. I love how cool the atmosphere gets and how peaceful I feel inside. Once when it was raining hard, Daddy said it was raining cats and dogs. Idioms, inferences, allusions, puns, metaphors and sarcasms are extremely difficult concepts I do not get.
Instead of saying, “Hold your horses!” could you simply say, “Stop running”? Can people simply talk in literal terms when they communicate with me?
When my older sister calls me to do my math homework, I wow her. They claim that for a seven year old, the speed and accuracy with which I multiply two-and-three-digit numbers is incredible. For her bewilderment, she asks, “Yaw, what is 324×61?” “19,764”, I smile as I answer her. She confirms with a calculator and claps in excitement. If there were anything I could do all day long without taking a break, it would be studying mathematics. The numbers and symbols jump to life when I see them. I love them, and they love me too, I can feel it. I wish my family could love me in that same way, with no scorn or pity. I finish the work and head to bed.
I know my routine. I know pain awaits me the morning after and I dread it. But that is not what is predominant on my mind now. What I am thinking about is why everybody views my condition as a disability rather than a different ability. I wish you could look past what you may consider as my limitations and rather see my strengths. I may not do well with eye contact, typical classroom work or social interaction, but do you realise that I don’t lie, cheat at games or pass judgment on other people?
I may not be the kind of child you expect me to be, but I did not choose this genetic disorder. I could give up but I forge on, even though you keep overloading my senses and pushing past the limits of my social abilities.
With love and therapy, you could help me to lead a better life. Until then, I will continue to be proud of who I am.
Who am I?
I am autistic.
Until The Pieces Fit Autism Awareness Campaign by The Voice Gh.
