Breathe in... Breathe out...
Breathe in... Breathe out...
That’s it. Just like they taught you. Calm down, don’t take it out on her.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, you know I didn’t mean it.” “I know Mum. It’s not your fault.” “But it is. Mine and my stupid autism’s.”
I always feel awful when ever I get overwhelmed. I always get so stressed and I end up shouting at my daughter. It’s because I’m autistic. Not many people know unless I tell them because I’m not like what everyone thinks an autistic person is like. I don’t have learning disabilities, instead I just get overwhelmed easily and I’m not good in social situations.
Today, I had a rough day at work. I am a mathematician at NASA, and there was this one thing that I just couldn’t work out. People were shouting at me to just put my mind to it and work it out; others were trying to suggest things to me, all at once. It was way to much information for my brain to process at once, I got so stressed that I simply walked out and said that when they had decided who was going to talk first, I’d gladly come back and finish that calculation.
The very moment I stepped in the door, Bella (my daughter) asked: “Muuuuuuum! Can I have some help with my maths homework?” That sent me overboard. I snapped at her and all the stress that I felt during the day camping pouring out in the form of frustration aimed at her when she didn’t deserve it.
“Mum! Stop blaming yourself for something you were born with and will have until the day you die! Stop blaming yourself for something you can’t control, and stop blaming yourself for other people’s actions that got you stressed! They know you’re autistic and need to be more understanding. It was the reason why they employed you in the first place because it makes you super amazing at maths.” “I know they know, but they don’t care. To them I am just another mathematician, except from the fact that my brain is wired differently.” I burst into tears and sobbed out all the emotions that had built up inside me. Bella sat down next to me. She cuddled into me and stroked my hair like she always does when I’m upset. It calms me down but makes me feel awful that she’s having to act like the parent.
A few minutes later, Bella looked at me and said, “I know! Why don’t you set up an education program at work about hidden disabilities so that people are more aware and can learn how to help and understand people like you?” I replied, “You know, that might just work!”
28.08.19
I see him everyday as I gaze out of my window. The boy of my dreams. He sits on the beach and sketches the horizon. I can just make him out with my eye, but if I look through my telescope I can see his face. I can see his sparkling, bluey-grey eyes as they reflect the sea, every crease in his forehead as he puzzles over which section to draw today and his smile, oh his smile, his perfect smile that slowly grows larger as he picture comes together. I like to think that he smiles at me.
Why oh why won’t Father ever let out of the lighthouse? He says that the world is an evil place, full of sin and temptation, and he’s only protecting me from it. But it can’t be all bad surely? I’m not supposed to know any of this, but there are some fantastic people out there. Malala Yousafzai, for example, she campaigned for girls’s education and almost got killed for it. Albert Einstein is another great person. He discovered that space and time are the same thing and formulated the Theory of General Relativity, one of the pillars of modern physics! He can’t know about these people, if he did, then he would never look at the world the way he does.
If only I could talk to him, the boy on the beach I mean. Even if it was just one conversation, one sentence even, and I would be happy. I would hide away in here for the rest of my life if it was the price to pay. If only...
29.08.19
Last night in bed I had a brain wave. Father got me a paper airplane kit for Christmas last year, and one of them might be able to fly the 500 metres to the shore when the tide is out. I could get a message to him that way. I rummaged through my cupboards to find it, frantically hoping that I hadn’t thrown it away. Thanking God as I pulled it out, I began to look through the instructions. 300 metres, 250 metres, 400 metres, none of them were good enough, not until I reached the last one. 500 metres!
I found a pencil and began to write my message. A few minutes later, it was written and the plane was folded. I opened my window, and threw it, praying that it would make it. My heart was racing as it bobbed up and down, almost touching the sea. A final gust of wind carried it to the shore.
A minute later, he noticed it, walked over and unfolded it. He read it and I hoped that he would understand why I had sent a paper airplane of all things. As finished reading it, he looked up towards my window - and smiled.
