Notes from my diagnosis

I am deficits,
         disorders,
               and abnormalities.

Difficulties,
         restrictions,
                  and limitations.
Inabilities,
             sensitivities,
 
vulnerable.

I am kind and considerate,
    but cold.
Accomplished in everything I attempt,
      but intolerant of imperfection.

I am fearless and confident,
 but anxious.

My responses are disproportionate,
         (I am always too little
                          or too much.)
My speech is clear and easy to understand,
          but too quiet.
I’ll smile when you make a joke,
              (if I realise it’s a joke at all)
                     but not just because you smile at me.

I have no interest in casual friendships,
        but am easily led and manipulated.
I’m clever,
      but have no common sense.
I eschew conventional gestures,
      I am atypical,
                unusual.

I’m blunt,
   (I tell the truth,
       funny how that’s seen as a problem.)
Conversation does not come naturally,
        I’ll panic if you don’t follow my script.
 I cannot empathise spontaneously,
           (what does that even mean?)
But I will try and fix things,
 And if you ask, give you a hug.
 

I am reduced to a list,
          A diagnosis,
                    a disability.

The myriad parts of me
          dissected,

                   and judged.

The labels are all people see.
             The acronyms
                  stamped on my soul.

Incapable of love.
        Or of empathy.
 
A robot.

By Harri, issue 105
 

Notes from my life

I am intensity,
         curiosity,
             and creativity.
Ambition,
      acceptance,
              and logic.
Talented,
      resilient,
 
               strong.

I will drive across the country,
      if someone I love says they need me.
My friendships are few,
      but precious.
I’ll trust what you tell me,
       until you’re caught in a lie,
               better that,
                      than to live in suspicion

Conversation is hard,
       small talk is painful.
             But tell me your passions.
                    I’ll listen.

I am my own calm
         in the storm of the world.
               Where everything hits me at once.
I can retreat into silence,
     and a perfect focus,
             I strive for perfection
                     because I know that I’m capable.
I can manage anxiety,
     and sensory overload,
            triggered at the drop of a hat.
I throw myself into interests
      with childlike enthusiasm,
              because life is a game, after all.

I see beauty in details,
       in patterns and colour,
             in the order of numbers and science.
In the sound of a word,
        as it repeats on my tongue,
                making peace in the middle of chaos.

I am more than a list,
      I’m a constellation of stars.
             My darkness is spangled with light.

I can’t write a poem
       about all that I am,
          I can’t be constrained
                    into lines.

If I’m a robot,
     I’m Data with his emotions chip on.
          Everything intense and overwhelming.
But there’s persistence in confusion,
        strength in despair.
And I’m only cold if you don’t care enough
     to really look at what’s there.

By Harri, issue 105