aquamarine wrote:~~Dedicated to my godbrother, who suffers from severe autism~~
I really liked this <3
Aaagh I love how you tied up the logic of being puppets and asjsdahkjfalvdff;;;;;;
I loved it <3333
aquamarine wrote:~~Dedicated to my godbrother, who suffers from severe autism~~
aquamarine wrote:~~Dedicated to my godbrother, who suffers from severe autism~~
There are millions and millions of fish in the sea
Why did the different one have to be me?
I'm not like you.
But I want to be.
•••
"Julius? Do you know the answer to number seven?"
A thousand thoughts course through my brain at once. Number seven. Number seven. Number -- okay, what is the national bird of the USA?
I know that. I know that, that's an easy one. Okay, let's see. No, it's not quail. That's just California's bird. Quail's are so cute, so fat and round and those little curly things on their heads and they scurry whenever--
"Julius?"
Focus! Not quail. The USA national bird...eagle. Something eagle. Hairy eagle? No, that's not it. Think, Jules! Baldy eagle? Baldy...American...American Bald Eagle, that's it! Okay, tell Mrs. Withers what the answer is.
"Do you have an answer, Julius?"
"Um, yes mam...it's..."
Everyone is staring at me. Why do they do that? Why do they always stare when it's my turn to answer questions? Don't they know how bad it makes me feel? Like all I want to do is cry in Mommy's lap. That's how I feel. Stop staring. They're still staring.
Mrs. Withers is sighing. "Okay Julius, never mind. Tom, do you know--"
"NO, I can answer."
"Julius, please lower your--"
"NO, LET ME ANSWER! I KNOW IT, I WANT TO ANSWER!"
Oh no, why did I yell? Now they've all stopped doing their worksheets and they really are all staring at me. Why does that always happen when I get frustrated? Why do I always lose control and yell? Mommy told me once that yelling hurts people's feelings. I don't mean to do that. But sometimes it just happens. Mrs. Withers is on the phone. I already know who she's calling.
"Julius." I peek through my fingers which are covering my eyes and now Mrs. Withers is gently taking my hand. "Julius, Robin is ready to see you. Go to room--"
"Room 205. Room 205. Room 205." I whisper to her as sad and frustrated tears fill my eyes. Robin is the lady who helps people like me. As I get up, I know they're looking at me again. Someone snickers and somebody else says, "Julius is crazy. He's stupid. He's so weird."
That was Billy, I think. More tears slip down my face as I make my way to Robin's office. Billy's words are so mean. Why is he so mean? He's wrong. I know he's wrong. Robin always tells me what to say when people say mean things.
"Being autistic is not crazy. Being autistic is not stupid. Being autistic is not weird."
I repeat these things to myself again and again. Here it is, the wooden door with a chip on the white paint. I reach up my small hand to knock on it and whisper.
"I am not crazy. I am not stupid. I am not weird. I am Julius."
•••
I'm not like you.
But I want to be.
why do i and everyone
i love, chose people
who treat us like
we're nothing
because we
accept the love
we think we
deserve.
Solfeggio wrote:Aaagh I love how you tied up the logic of being puppets and asjsdahkjfalvdff;;;;;;
I loved it <3333
Takora Drakan wrote:That was wonderful written!
as the lukewarm hands of the gods
came down and gently picked my adrenaline pearls
they placed them in their mouths and rinsed all the fear out
----
the best way to start anew
is to fail miserablyBjörk
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