The second part of this blog is a short story I wrote some time ago about a boy with Asperger’s Syndrome, inspired by a strip in Comic Strip IQ. Asperger’s Syndrome was not recognised until 1944. It was first posted on a page called Stories, which I have just recently removed as my Daily blog has become the place for most of my general writing, non fiction or otherwise. I have added it here today as I am jet lagged and not getting anywhere with any of the blog drafts I have started, and can’t think of anything new to write about. Sorry! I have started to feel a new theme and perhaps a change to the style and graphics might be in order, so there is a lot of work ahead with my blog. I might even start adding an occasional photograph, or if I had one, and could work out how to do them, an iPad drawing or two; I would really love to be able to draw caricatures, so might give them a go some time just for fun. Now that we are home from the UK, my blogs will be coming online at different times again, rather than being posted soon after midnight as they have been the last five weeks. We are very glad to be home, and looking forward to sleeping in our own bed again, and have spent our day unpacking, washing, collecting the cats and seeing our loved ones.
Forks in the road
“The thoughts ran through my mind “Why do they think I am mad, why must they send me to a home, why do I feel like this?” Sometimes I feel mad, but I know I am not. It is just that my emotions overwhelm me and I have no way of controlling my actions. There is this constant inner turmoil somehow begging me to act badly and to think angry thoughts, and I seem only to be able to do one simple thing at a time. It seems too, that I have this ‘knowing’ that it is not my fault, that it is not my mothers or fathers fault. It just is.
My parents secretly tell people I am mad. They speak in hushed voices, appearing embarrassed and confused when they speak. They say they are ashamed of me and that they wish I had not been born. I do not think I am mad even though I feel it most of the time.
I hear them whispering at night when I am supposed to be asleep. Many nights they argue, blaming themselves for my behaviour, for my ‘wrongness’. My mother cries a great deal. Mostly my father blames my mother, and yells at her constantly. He worries my brothers and sisters may become afflicted with what I have got, and often says he wants to kill himself he is so ashamed and humiliated by what he believes my mother has done to him.
They take me to the doctor a lot. He does not know what is wrong with me and does not even seem to care about me. He tells my parents to keep me in my bedroom and away from school and other children, fearful of what I might do to them.When we visit my grandparents, it seems to me my grandfather somehow knows what I feel. I know it from the way he looks at me, from the hidden softness towards me and the empathy in his eyes. He spends most of his time sitting in his chair peering out the window with his cat gently purring on his knee. He sits for hours, stroking his cat, saying nothing to anyone, appearing to be in a world of his own. Perhaps he feels what I feel?
I am all alone. There is no-one to help me. I have been locked in a home, often locked in my bedroom. The nuns beat me if I speak out of turn, and they lock me away for days when I can’t control my behaviour. I am so scared and so alone I mostly want to die. I’m sure my mother must miss me, but she never comes to visit. All I get is a birthday and Christmas present, delivered to the nurses to pass on to me.
I cry a lot.
I heard two nuns tell someone else’s visitor that I was a ‘mistake’. They said my parents must have done something terribly wrong to have deserved such a punishment from God. I think of killing myself, just as my father keeps saying he wants to do, but don’t know how.
Please God take my brain or my insides out so that I might stop feeling this way.”