prison of darkness

this talks about my diagnosis and how it affected me.

I was diagnosed in fifth grade, and that changed me. when you finally have something on a paper basically saying you are different that is terrifying. But I was more confused than scared. When I was 10 I was diagnosed with autism, ADHD, auditory processing disorder, and General anxiety. And no one believed me. It was baffling how I could’ve slapped them across the face with documents and they would still have doubts. A few people believed the diagnosis, believed me. But my teacher, The person who is supposed to teach me, and help me grow, didn't believe me. In Fact she thought it was a flat out lie and proceeded to believe that for the rest of the school year not one minute went by where I was not being questioned. Not much happened during the start of the year, kinda like the calm before the storm, I left early once a week for therapy and then the storm came, my therapist Ms. Crystal recommended taking the ‘test’. Sitting in a small dark room wearing a mask and playing make believe with a woman I dont dont like, taking quiz after quiz. When I finally received the diagnosis I felt like I had just pled guilty to being different, And my teacher used this to arrest me and bring me to the prison she built, one built on confusion and guilt. I was scared to go to school, scared of being different, confused of what was going on in my head. I never told anyone. I put all the pressure on myself and when the pressure reached a boiling point it all spilled over and I took it out on everyone like a tea kettle left on the stove too long. 

The second part of fifth grade is something I would consider hell. They stole my happiness that a fifth grader should have so I stole their notebooks, supplies, lunch, and even a computer once  and that's when my life went from hell to purgatory, a place they lock monsters because that's what they thought I was. A little demonic child. And I felt that way too. I felt like a monster, I felt different, and I felt confused. When I got caught with the computer I got ISS. I would have preferred I had just gotten expelled. And looking back at it now I think that was my goal, I was trying to escape my purgatory. I had to spend my days with the vice principal who everyone loved. Some days were ok with the vice principal because she held the keys to the cage I wanted out from. But Every mistake I made was another lock on my cage and no one was taking the tea kettle off the stove. They were turning up the heat. I was getting angrier, more violent not physically, but mentally. Whenever I hurt someone mentally I had a small escape from my cage and it made me feel better, I would sink so low just to escape. My parents weren't safe either. I love my Mom’s more than anything but I felt so trapped during that year and I couldn't help but blame them. Because they sent me into that small room, they sent me to that doctor, they put the tea kettle on the stove and turned the heat all the way up and left me unattended. 

Purgatory became my life. I felt safe nowhere, spending most of my time hidden in the gameroom or my room. I found safety in pretending. My favorite stories were WARRIORS. I attached myself to those books like they were a lifeline and I refused to let go. I spent most of my time pretending to be a warrior cat finding comfort in the cats that lived by themselves in the woods. Sometimes I thought about running away. Not because of hate but because I was tired of pretending, But I refused to give up, refused to leave my mom’s. They are my whole world. School was getting worse. I wasn't allowed to go to the library, wasn't allowed to go on Fridays to do my job of helping the librarian. I loved that woman like she was family. I respected her. She was always there to turn off the heat on the tea kettle even if it was just a ten minute job it meant everything to me. My teacher took that away from me. I hardly got to see the librarian anymore. I don't remember her name anymore but I will always remember what she did for me even after everything. She got me out of my cage every few weeks if she could. There was one time she took me from class to help her with some kindergartners. One of the little girls fell and scraped her knee. She screamed and cried and I ran right towards her. I was scared at first that the kettle was too hot and I would hurt her.  But I didn't, I made her laugh. I kissed her knee and told her jokes and held her hand all the way to the art room. The librarian made me cry by telling me, “You're such a kind person.” Unlocking my cage one by one my purgatory losing more and more ground. But nothing ever lasts, the storm only got worse. I was fully ripped away from her all because I made a dumb mistake. Not knowing where my planner was apparently was the final shackle on my life.

I started not sleeping. I would steal food from the cabinets. I was becoming more and more impulsive and uncontrollable. I just wanted to feel better but I never could. I was constantly angry and confused. I was in fifth grade, I had no understanding of my diagnosis, no understanding of what I did wrong. I wish someone put more effort in explaining it to me. I was lost in the storm. Angry and confused, grabbing at anything hoping to be saved from my purgatory. I was never saved, and no one told me why my life suddenly changed. No one told me why the teacher didn't like my stories. I found that one out on my own. In such a cruel way. She hated my poem of my great grandfather who died less than a year before that. She hated my story based on WARRIORS. She hated everything and anything. She always said to me, “Your writing is immature and terribly written. Try harder.” I still second guess my writing because of things she said. 

My freedom was everyone else's prison. Covid hit. People were dying and I couldn't leave without wearing a mask. But I escaped my teacher. For the most part. She was still my teacher, but through a computer screen. I felt safe. But the damage had already been done. The kettle had exploded, the heat becoming too much for it to bear. I'm still trying to put the pieces back together, Still trying to escape the purgatory that I’ve realized is just my head. I trapped myself in my head for so long and sometimes I still do. I nurse my purgatory when I'm not running from it. Trying to turn it into a beautiful forest without monsters trying to get me to give in and memories haunting me using guilt and fear as a lure into a cage of despair. I never want to go back to that cage, I never want to feel trapped in my own head by someone ever again. And I will fight tooth and nail for the acceptance people with mental disabilities deserve. Because it is not a disability. It's a strength, and no one deserves to be confused and scared like me. Everyone deserves the help they need. No one deserves to be locked inside of purgatory no matter their age or mistakes.