I lived nineteen years with a person I never knew. When I was sixteen (and he was 29) most of our interactions consisted of both of our eyes fixed on the green broken ceramic tiles of the floor as we would pass each other in the hall. He would go in his room and shut the door and I would go through the adjoining kitchen with the same broken tiles and head out the door to school or work or wherever.
One time I was playing across the street with a girl my age who was visiting her cousins who lived there which also happened to be one of Kevin's friends. We were playing in the garage when he past us with about ten of his friends and didn't even look at me. He was probably a senior in high school, I was in kindergarten. He told my mom to tell me he wanted me to never go back there.
When I was about thirteen I was eating cereal at the kitchen table and he came in and stood by the window waiting for a ride. I was startled when I randomly glanced up to find him staring at me with a sneer on his face. I had been chewing with my mouth open. I froze and stared back down at my cereal until he left. The loud force of my cry as I burst into sudden tears sent my mom running into the kitchen. For someone who didn't want to be a part of my life, for my entire life, that was too much to handle.
I still don't talk to my brother. When I met his girlfriend at a family funeral I walked up to her and introduced myself. You must be Kevin's girlfriend? I'm his sister. They had been dating three years. I pointed to her finger, what's that? An engagement ring. I added her on facebook hoping to have some sort of insight into his life. We remained friends there for about a year and a half...until I started coming out of the closet more about autism and other medical issues I'm trying to sort out.
I get the feeling that very few people in my family believe me. Between my aunt blaming me for not taking care of my parents who live two hours away, and my uncle becoming angry because I complained that I could not identify and clean this obnoxious smell at my parents house (hello! sensory processing disorder!) I give up on my family. I don't have the patience if they don't have the patience. I'll just go on doing what I'm doing, trying to get to where I need to be. It would be nice to have the support from them but I have my church family my mom's family and a handful from my dad's.
I did not ask for this. I did not ask to be a failure. I did not ask to live in a trailor that is falling apart and not work full time so that we could live in a decent house and have a decent life and help my parents by giving them money and helping them clean their apartment more. I get absolutely no form of government assistance for this disability and I am TRYING to be a productive member of society. I can't even pay my student loans back for a degree I barely use. I am trying so hard. If someone cannot understand that I have anxiety and sometimes cannot drive to Bay City or that I cannot handle certain sensory issues and it is interfering with me giving my parents what they need and deserve. I am doing everything I can to change all this. YOU don't know what this is like so stop judging me.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Sunday, January 18, 2015
A Little Goes a Long Way
All of the desks formed an arc around the room, facing a wooden lecturn in the center. This room had only one exit, a door in the corner, that all the desks faced away from. The walls were blank with no windows, other than those that separated the teacher's office from the room. Each day for a month I sat in that desk, staring at the podium, feeling sick. I observed the teacher each day leaning casually on the lecturn as he spoke to class. He waved his hands animatedly as he spoke to us, telling us crazy and inappropriate stories as the smell of his blueberry candle permeated the room. Eventually it would be me standing in that spot....this was speech class.
I had never NEVER spoke in front of a class. I never NEVER raised my hand to answer a question. I always looked down, always occupied myself taking notes and trying not to be noticed. I never made eye contact with the teacher, because they took that to mean that you wanted to answer a question.
I didn't know what I was going to do so I signed up for the latest slot I could. As I watched the others go before me, I was in complete denial I was going to have to do this. I considered transferring schools. I could get up at 6 and get on a different bus and go somewhere, anywhere else. Mother wasn't on board with this idea and I had to come up with something quickly.
A few days before my imminent demise, it was another student Sara's turn. She stood behind the lecturn and began unpacking a bag placing things on a table next to the lecturn. She took out ziplock bags of vegetables, a bottle of water and several bowls. She took apart one of the bowls that had a strainer component, added the lettuce and water; and spun the device around with a crank. She said the device was called a salad spinner. My attention was entirely on that spinning object the entire time. She was a genius. She did a 'demonstrational speech' by making a salad and speaking as we watched her spin the lettuce dry. I realized I could avoid all of that anxiety inducing eye contact simply by making them watch my hands as she was doing now.
A few days later, it was my turn. I had to stand behind that old scuffed-up podium, with 20 sets of eyes upon me. Before I could get more than a few words out, I nervously fumbled at the container to get it open and sent it flying across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. The world stopped.
From that day on, whenever I had to do any public speaking this memory immediately surfaced. Each and every time. I stuttered through everything I had to present with burning red cheeks trying to push the image away from my thoughts.
Yesterday I stood up and spoke about my life, autism, and treatments. I didn't stutter once, my face was not warm and I forgot about the torturous high school speech class until I sat down to write this blog.
A little calming oil goes a long way.
I had never NEVER spoke in front of a class. I never NEVER raised my hand to answer a question. I always looked down, always occupied myself taking notes and trying not to be noticed. I never made eye contact with the teacher, because they took that to mean that you wanted to answer a question.
I didn't know what I was going to do so I signed up for the latest slot I could. As I watched the others go before me, I was in complete denial I was going to have to do this. I considered transferring schools. I could get up at 6 and get on a different bus and go somewhere, anywhere else. Mother wasn't on board with this idea and I had to come up with something quickly.
A few days before my imminent demise, it was another student Sara's turn. She stood behind the lecturn and began unpacking a bag placing things on a table next to the lecturn. She took out ziplock bags of vegetables, a bottle of water and several bowls. She took apart one of the bowls that had a strainer component, added the lettuce and water; and spun the device around with a crank. She said the device was called a salad spinner. My attention was entirely on that spinning object the entire time. She was a genius. She did a 'demonstrational speech' by making a salad and speaking as we watched her spin the lettuce dry. I realized I could avoid all of that anxiety inducing eye contact simply by making them watch my hands as she was doing now.
A few days later, it was my turn. I had to stand behind that old scuffed-up podium, with 20 sets of eyes upon me. Before I could get more than a few words out, I nervously fumbled at the container to get it open and sent it flying across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. The world stopped.
From that day on, whenever I had to do any public speaking this memory immediately surfaced. Each and every time. I stuttered through everything I had to present with burning red cheeks trying to push the image away from my thoughts.
Yesterday I stood up and spoke about my life, autism, and treatments. I didn't stutter once, my face was not warm and I forgot about the torturous high school speech class until I sat down to write this blog.
A little calming oil goes a long way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
