The sun shines in October [autistic creative writing]

Hi my lovelies!  I’m not sure what’s up with my brain lately, but I’m thinking there’s a thyroid issue.

Thyroids these days…

Anyway, I’m sort of kicking back this evening, entering some (very) old creative writing pieces into my creative writing blog (which isn’t always sophisticated and pretty; many pieces come from my volatile adolescence which was…sometimes frightening, but I digress….), and anyway, I came across one piece in particular that I wrote when I was 16.  It describes various aspects of my earlier childhood, in pure, raw form, without any masking at all.  It’s a free-verse rambling session that strings together phrases I used to say, activities I used to have, imaginary friends I used to talk to, and so on.  It’s kinda like a Full Confession, which is what it feels like to me to reveal myself this deeply.  (Spot the undiagnosed autistic girl!)  😉

And anyway, I thought that tonight, I’d share it with you.  Maybe some of y’all might see aspects of yourself in this, or maybe not; I share it here in case it resonates with anyone.  ❤

(Please don’t laugh too hard at me – I was just 16 when I wrote this and I’m talking about myself between ages 2-10 or so – I copied it verbatim without changing a thing.)  😉

(I’ll issue a Content Advisory: brief mentions of physical abuse by a babysitter)

What follows is 100% true, as is the way in which it flowed through my mind, skipping across surfaces, delving into crevices.  Everything here actually happened.  ❤

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It’s opposite day do you want to do the circle thing here’s some corn soup cat scratched my beesting in august two years ago grounding cheerios into the carpet and I could get blamed colors all around a huge telephone the old fashioned ones you know?

there’s a hot-air balloon in a bright blue sky the sun shining behind me gloom gray clouds intertwined in a forest of oak trees mystery is the horizon beyond the blind happiness oblivious and stupid the horizon lies beyond the baby pines somewhere in the middle of the grown-up ones is where the beautiful dog lies under the tree stump in the back yard is where the older cat lies closer to the house was mine the one I would run after with my tew . . . bury my face in . . . walk around in circles . . . singing the songs I grew up with that gave me strange images even back then . . . when I didn’t know enough to talk . . . didn’t know enough to figure out where it was coming from . . . why it was there

the sun shines in october turning the green leaves brown high up above my second-story window the wind blows them makes them sway hard but they don’t come down yet they’re not ready to die . . . well I wasn’t either

I blow the feathers around in the tiny drawer . . . my face so close . . . they swirl fast in a circle . . . it makes me laugh . . . I scream like there’s no tomorrow . . . got to school when I was three . . . there was no one there . . . has never been . . . no-school forgotten–accidentally-(on-purpose?) used to be happy nothing affected me . . . oh well, things change . . . now I can’t take anything anymore . . . I’m so fragile . . . whatever happened???

used to sing to myself . . . used to be perfect . . . used to know everything . . . then I flunked a grade . . . don’t blame it on me, blame it on them THEY did it . . . THEY failed ME I was too smart for them and they didn’t know it . . . don’t remember things too clearly anymore . . . not at all like I used to . . . every little detail stored in my beautiful little mind . . . I’ll have it coming . . . I’ll be tortured later . . . when it all comes back to me . . . there is so much more . . . like the dreams of tornadoes . . . riding the stallion and flying . . . saving my sister from the swamp . . . swear the storm would eat her up . . . swallow her . . . never meant it that way . . . I’d like to think that I’d still do that now . . . I’m not invincible anymore . . .

didn’t have much to live for till sixth grade but I’d build with legos wanna make another town? this time we’ll take pictures we’ll show them to my teachers with whom I started to leave my mark with early I know they’d remember me they’d have no choice bet everyone has but I’m not going back I stole and lied and forgot . . . putting distance between me and everyone . . . never let anyone get close . . . can’t get hurt that way . . . it’d be too dangerous . . .

never went to church except sunday school where I broke the blue crayon we drew pictures and I drew my own thing always did starting with the parrot . . . that perfect parrot that I still remember today . . . it’s sort of a legend . . . black ink on my face and hands . . . one would wonder . . . people still do . . . they always will

I remember all the babysitters except the one that hit me in the face . . . the brain is so kind . . . the schizophrenic on t.v. said that . . . wonder what I’ll be like when the sun shines in october again . . . remember giving everyone a hard time making everyone cry . . . it was just too hard . .

ah, the snow banks and crystal mountain the imaginary indian friend who lived in the group of trees in our front yard we’d rake leaves and put them in a pile . . . made a small fort in the forest . . . carried a burning stick in first grade . . . teacher said I was stupid . . . never liked that one . . . but I took an interest in almost every other one I had . . . especially when the sun started to shine.

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(Image Credit: Mario Sanchez Nevado)

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