Last night I had trouble getting to sleep due to my sore throat. To pass the time I got out my calendars for previous years to see just how far I've come. I keep a calendar journal, have since 2004, and what I do is I simply, in the small confines of a box, write what I did that day. I scrolled through 2004 in amazement as that was a bad year for me, but then I got to January 30th, 2005.
I find it odd as yesterday I my topic was "silenced" when it was seven years ago to the day that I wrote my first thing that was uninfluenced or required. The chapter has been lost to time, at least I don't know where it is, and it was called, "Questions." It would be another week or so before I would start writing the chapters that were put into "Finding Kansas."
I often think back to those days and never could I have imagined that the chain of events would happen the way they have. This whole journey didn't start with any intentions of a job, to be published, or even to create a passion. I was trapped within myself and had no way to express what was going on. As I said yesterday, speaking was something that I tried to avoid. Because of this I simply couldn't say, "Hey, you know, it makes me sad that..."
Day after day went by after I was diagnosed like that and the cycle kept going in a downward spiral. It was feeding upon itself and I was going to a darker and darker place. I don't think it had to be that way, but being unable to express how I felt about it, as well as having the first thing I read about it state, "People on the autism spectrum will never have a job, never have friends, and will never be happy." all made for a perfect storm.
That storm lasted over a year and never once could I put into words how I felt. Then, on that January 30th seven years ago, I had had enough so I did the only thing I could; if I couldn't speak it I could write it and I started with "Questions."
I don't fully remember the contents of "Questions." What comes to mind is asking various questions regarding, "Why can't I..." Those were such dark days that I'm not confident what is in it. However, a week or two later when I wrote "Emily" I do remember that night much more clearly. Anyway, the memory might be foggy, but who I am and where I am started on a dark January night seven years ago yesterday. I don't know this segment of my life could've started more innocently as there was no dreams of fame, or dreams of people reading my work for all over the world, all I wanted, the ONLY thing I wanted, was for at least one person to know who I was and why I was and perhaps, through that, the general world wouldn't look down upon me as much as I feared they did.