Written in a note book
I found it in my bottom draw, a letter that I wrote to myself quite a few years ago. It was from when I first started to realise that I have Aspergers Syndrome. I had gone to see my doctor and had not been treated very well. The doctor had laughed in my face and said things that made me feel really stupid. I had not long lost my Mom, I needed help, so this hurt me intensely and delayed my understanding of self and my acceptance of me for an added 6 years. I still struggle to visit any doctor even all these years later. I only go when I really need to.
My Mom was the person who helped me make sense of this world
I really needed her with me as I walked into the surgery. My head looping with rehearsed words and I felt so alone in what I was facing. My Dad has classic Autism; he is practically non-verbal outside of the home. He has basic understanding but not enough for me to have turned to him for comfort. I had no friends and no-one who could understand how I was feeling. So I wrote down what I needed to say. This was before I had any professional counselling, and before I started to keep a reflective journal. I just felt a need to write. I had forgotten all about this letter and the poem. Funny how you find things when you need to. It’s what I like to call a God-incident.
My poem come to me at the end of the letter, I posted the poem when I first started blogging. Before I could open up about me all I posted was my poems. I thought I would share my poem in the context it was written in. At the end of the letter where it is supposed to be. That is where it truly belongs.
My Trip to the doctors.
Walking out of the Doctors I felt half an inch tall. I wanted my Mom; I felt 12 years old again. Within 10 minutes that woman had undermined every conversation practised in my head. Every piece of information I had gathered on Aspergers Syndrome became locked away, un-retrievable.
I was no longer the Lisa I had practised so hard to become; I was a school girl again. While she went on, I returned to my dreamland only this one was with my Mom. This Doctor would not be talking to me like this if my Mom was here. Yes it’s true my Mom would have stopped her dead in her tracks and put her right in her place. But I’m alone now and Mom isn’t here to protect me anymore. Since she died all I can do is keep hiding, no-one understands.
Well I hope that doctor is proud of herself. She bullied me right back to looking at the floor. I couldn’t look at her; I just kept my head down. I ended up biting my lips and rubbing my face. Just answering her with yes and no. My breathing changed and I just wanted to get out of there.
I hate the way people treat me like this. Did she not realise how hard it was for me to get into that room in the first place. I had rehearsed what I needed to say, I felt quite confident about it and then she ripped me apart. My only defence was inside myself, back inside my shell where I have spent my whole life. I should have taken someone with me, what was I thinking. Someone who could have spoken as soon as I clammed up. I have been different though since having my kids, I do speak up and defend them. But this was for me, not my kids, and I don’t defend myself. I act different when it’s for me.
Ok it’s all over now, as soon as I became hostile towards her she wanted me out and said she would refer me. I hate it when I get angry, why can’t people be nicer to me so I don’t feel so threatened.
But…I’m the one up at 3:15 in the morning, writing this out, trying to deal with my feelings. I feel so hurt, embarrassed, frustrated and angry. I bet she’s asleep in her bed, she probably doesn’t even remember my name. I should have refused to see her, I made an appointment with the nice doctor, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
My confidence left me as soon as I walked through the door and saw how she looked at me. She stripped away all the progress I had made in less than 10 minutes. It is so hard to be part of this world when most of the people here are like her. I prefer my bubble it is safe.
Inside this shell are two,
Who I am, and the one who speaks to you.
I’m so confident, intelligent inside,
But when I speak that person will hide.
The frustration and anger is sealed,
When who I really am, is never revealed.
The humiliation and fear I keep,
It’s locked away inside so deep.
I practise how to talk, what to say.
It all comes out wrong on the day.
I come crushing down like a ton of rubble,
I think I’ll stay safe here in my bubble.
This planet all seems so wrong,
There must be another place where I belong.
I try to be like them………. but I’m not
Perhaps like E.T. I’m the one they forgot.
So……..I’ll sit and reflect as the world goes by.
Breathe in and swallow yet another sigh.
There’s not a lot that I can do,
Because normal to me, is not being like you.
NOTE: This is part of a post written back in November 2010. The letter was written shortly after my Mom’s death (2004) and my Dad’s diagnoses of Autism and low IQ.
I am revisiting my old posts because it is showing me how much writing has helped me.
I am still struggling to write on my blogs.
This post explains why, “Autism Awareness or up on a soap box”
Love and hugs friends. Lisa. xx