Learn

School is too much. Gym three times a week and almost always involving people throwing things and running. Football is a good example. When I don't know what to do, I stand still. When I stand still, people expect me to move. When they expect me to move, they slam into me. And slamming into me means instant meltdown.

Yet the gym teacher took a full minute to notice my rocking on my heels and sobbing.

I've got to wonder--do these teachers even know what to look for in a person who may have autism? Especially if it's mild? I've begun to doubt it. They teach that to teachers of the younger grades--sometimes.

Take me as an example. I was seemingly bullied in first and second grade. My teacher mentioned to my mom that I smiled too much. My mom thought that was an inappropriate comment, as I seemed to be happy-go-lucky at home. But my teacher ignored that from then on, because I was in the most advanced spelling group, I was reading middle school books, and I was doing advanced math. She ignored the fact that I struggled to hold the pencil to write and I couldn't control it to draw at all. She ignored the fact that I had an obsession with Cam Jansen, Bobbsey Twins, and Boxcar Children. She ignored the fact that I had no control over the volume of my voice--she actually thought that last one was a hearing problem.

In the higher grades, I continued to struggle with everything but academics. I was repeatedly refused an IEP in middle school because I have an eidetic memory. But now, that's changed. My grades are rapidly going down and I can't focus on my work. It's horrible. So finally, I'm going to be going through the evaluations. Finally.

But today was a lot to take in. I barely spoke after gym (seriously? Gym, first period, on Monday? Awful for anyone.) and I had a five-paragraph essay to write in history second block. I didn't even get halfway through. Luckily, the class has more time tomorrow to finish. Then, geometry with the sophomores. I was too exhausted to write out the distance formula in my problem of the day. But biology went better. The teacher's neurodivergent himself. We're good friends, and he knows that I sometimes need a minute.

That reminds me of a poem--a never-ending one--I'm currently writing. I'll type you a verse at the end of each post from now on.

Wish me luck with the evaluations, and let's hope gym on Wednesday goes a little better than today!

Every person has an attic.

Every attic has some dust.

Every attic tends to be filled

With a person's thoughts of lust.

(P.S. If anyone can tell where my inspiration has come from for the poem, I give you credit. I've named the background in a previous post, I'm sure. I love this topic.)

Stop.

Stop.

Don't push it.

That's enough.

The thoughts on the first day of school are still fuzzy in my mind. A major meltdown, all because I couldn't take it in. The high school smells. Bad. And that was too much.

Then comes just the fact that I am in honors, not because I can work well with others or because I have good executive functioning, but because I don't forget. And yet. Memory isn't enough if you don't care for math and your teacher last year never got around to teaching you what you were supposed to learn. (He played extremely loud, annoying music instead.) I couldn't take it. I had a meltdown.

And that's okay. They let me. They let me leave the room, they let me get away. They realized I wasn't going to be able to cope at first. They were fine with that.

But I still have protests. For one, the whole school is expected to light it up blue. I'll be wearing a red polo shirt that day, thank you very much. Polos are good. They don't hurt. So I'll be asking if we can have an assembly that day. I'll speak. I don't fully understand stage fright. It's like pain--it doesn't really exist. So maybe I can speak. Maybe they'll let me show my true colors. Maybe....

Maybe someday clear social struggles won't be ignored because grades are good enough to pass. In kindergarten, in first grade, in second and in third, Mom tried to get my teachers to allow me to skip a grade. But they refused, saying  I wasn't socially capable. They were ignorant of the fact that I read novels at recess, and that I seemed perfectly happy. But they decided, at one point, that I was disabled. They put me in a reading-assistance program in second grade for those at a kindergarten level. I was reading at a sixth-grade level. At least. I was out of that only after two months of me saying I was annoyed. But there will always be more....

Maybe someday autistic children won't be killed for being themselves. Issy. Alex. So many. Each different, yet all the same. All killed. Just for who they are. I pay attention. But I'm not going to devote too much energy to fighting for the peace of Star Trek's Earth. Other things come first for me--getting understanding. That will lead to the peace.

Maybe hate will stop someday.

I'm waiting.