Tag: autism

  • Mute Again: A Poem

    It’s been a good writing day, I believe I’ve spoken about my Wattpad account before where I have three published works, one super short story Vishal and two poetry-based works Tales of An Introverted Expat and The Silence Inside Me.

    I updated the cover of The Silence Inside Me and added a new poem.

    Cover art by Melanie Wasser on Unsplash

    The title of the poem is Mute Again and I’ll share it here with you.

    Mute Again

    I was doing good, I was talking to the world, my words were finally being heard and I could express my every thought, and then…

    Then I moved.

    To another country where they didn’t speak my language and I didn’t speak theirs.

    I was back at square one.

    I studied every day, I watched all the movies, all the videos, I listened to music, I read so many stories.

    And yet…

    Here I am.

    Mute again.

    Another group of people who don’t understand.
    Another group of people who label me, unfriendly, snobby, shy.

    I want to scream, I’m not shy, I’m not unfriendly, I’m not a snob.

    But once again.

    My words fail me, they stay lodged in the back of my throat, they abandon me when I need them the most.

    I just want to be free.

    Free to speak, free to show my emotions, free to be me.

    But here I am again.

    Locked in my own mind.

    Here I am looking for those who know, those who understand, those who feel as I do, those silent people with so much to say.

    My people.

    Hope you enjoyed it and if you’re interested in reading more you can visit my profile LLDove.

  • The Useless Sibling

    The Useless Sibling

    Hey guys,

    Today I want to talk about something that has always bothered me.

    Ever since I was very young I’ve always viewed myself as the useless sibling. I have two older sisters who were obviously intelligent, they got good grades they were Salutatorian and Valedictorian of their classes, I also have three younger brothers who are also obviously intelligent, graduating with High honors, internship, also Sal/Val of their class, and then there’s me.

    Quiet, can’t speak in school, trouble with bullies, terrible grades, held back twice, nothing really special. I didn’t graduate with honors and I didn’t go to college, I am the useless child. Every parent must have a dud and I always knew it was me.

    When I was younger you could go to Wendy’s for a free meal with your report card and for whatever reason my father always brought me along to see my siblings get their free meals and he would buy nothing for me. I’d sit there and watch them eat and feel out of place.

    He’d also do this with toys, I got nothing while they got something new to play with. I never really blamed my siblings, I blamed myself for being too dumb to understand the work, too dumb to be able to speak.

    My mother probably didn’t know about this and I know if she did she would have bought me something even if it was something small and tiny. She never let me feel useless until that one year she said to me “if you get good grades, I’ll buy you that doll you wanted”, I worked my ass off and I didn’t get that doll, sold out is what she told me.

    I think that was the same year my youngest brother was born and my grandmother, my mother’s mother passed away. I remember not feeling anything really, I didn’t cry, I didn’t understand why others were crying but when I saw my mother break down I felt it, I cried because my mother was crying. I loved my grandmother and I have very fond memories of her but I just don’t feel emotions like other people.

    That was also the very first year I was held back, I stopped trying, I stopped caring, my first experience with depression but nobody noticed. They said I was being difficult and willful. Nobody saw me.

    I used to have a very best friend that I’d eat with hanging out every chance I got and the very next year we stopped hanging out and I’d sit by myself on the stairs in front of my classroom. I didn’t have any friends, I didn’t eat lunch, my thought was not the best and I didn’t know how to change them.

    It’s not to say some of my classmates didn’t try, they did, they invited me to sit with them under a mango tree, they’d share a little of their lunches with me and talk around me. Never to me because everyone knew I didn’t talk. I barely even smiled or showed any emotions.

    For my entire young life, I felt out of place like I couldn’t understand my peers, they were all speaking a language I just didn’t know. I tried to emulate them, I tried to have crushes like the other girls and copy their mannerisms and what I thought their thought patterns might be but it was like playing a part I had no business trying out for.

    In Jr. High my second year of 7th grade after being held back yet again I encountered a teacher that challenged me. According to one of my older sisters, she was in the woman’s class all of one day but this woman would constantly call me by my sister’s name and it chafed because I had my own name. This woman would also make fun of students who did poorly and I was not going to let her make fun of me, she was going to know my name. Mine, not my sister’s but mine.

    I got into honors that year, I spoke for the first time that year, my grandfather, my father’s father passed away that year. My mother was pregnant with my baby sister that year, 9/11 happened that year and my mother lost my baby sister that year.

    It was a catalyst for me and I let everything push me into doing everything I could to get out of school.

    It didn’t matter. My father still didn’t acknowledge what I had accomplished, I was still the child that couldn’t speak and couldn’t make it in the real world because I was filled with so much anxiety I couldn’t do half the things my siblings could.

    It’s amazing how much your parents can hurt you without knowing they did or maybe he knew exactly where to inflict the worst pain.

    He’s such a confusing person, he says these cruel things but then he took me out for my birthday just me and him and he bought me a birthday gift that I never thought he would. We’d go out to the movies together and we argued yes but it seemed like only the two of us did these things. My father was like me.

    He was filled with anxiety and he didn’t know how to express his emotions.

    As I got older I learned more about him just by observing him and I am so much like him not just in looks but in temperament.

    All those times when he’d sit by himself away from others, I understand it now, he looked so cut off from us because he didn’t know how to interact with us.

    When he’d want to leave or not go to a social function, I fully understand it. I hate social functions and how it drains me.

    His special hobbies, his desire for a schedule, I do all of this as well.

    I felt like I was looking for his approval and never got it but I was the only one he’d call to help him, the only one he showed a little attention in, I think my father understood me just a little better than I understood myself back then.

    That saying he kept saying to me? That I’d never go anywhere and be able to survive in the real world?

    I took it to heart and pushed myself, I left home and traveled internationally, I got married and I might still struggle socially but I function on my own level.

    I might not be as academically fortunate as my siblings but I am not the useless sibling, I made my success in personal battles and I accomplished my own great things.

    Thanks for reading a tiny bit of my story.

  • Feeling inspired to write more

    Bonjour à tous!

    When in France right?

    For the past two days, I have been inspired to revisit an old story I started working on about two years ago. All my interest in it had fizzled and it just sat there stagnant until Thursday when I was going through my old stuff and saw it. Immediately I felt this need to dust it off and breathe some new life into it. It’s not finished by any means, you can say that it is barely begun so I won’t have a lot of work to dissect and can just start writing whenever I feel like it. I tried to remember just why I never began my story and why it was put into a coma and the only thing I could think of was that I didn’t have the voice to tell it. I firmly believe that if you haven’t connected with your storyline on a deep level it will never get anywhere. A forced storyline is never a good thing and if you have to force it why are you writing it in the first place?

    I read over my files, I keep very detailed records of my storylines whether it’s in old notebooks or digital notebooks on Evernote or Google Docs. I have literally hundreds of half-built worlds and storylines, finished short stories that need good editing. What I do not have is the desire to do what I know needs to be done. It has been so hard for me to push through my depression and get back to what I have always enjoyed but this month I feel like I will be able to accomplish much.

    I do a bit of poetry and have some works in progress on Wattpad that I have been focusing on lately. If you’re interested and registered on the site you can view my profile here at LLDove.

    My pieces are anything but popular but I feel like they fall into very specific niches and they are special to me especially Tales of an Introverted Expat and The Silence Inside Me, both are poetry-based and reference my depression, anxiety, and selective mutism to an extent.

    The piece I am working on now can be typed as a Romantic Comedy, it is called One Night Romeo.

    Gia Joseph was tired of the small town she grew up in where everyone knew her as the recluse, she wanted a fresh start somewhere new and exciting. It was cliche to move to France with the hopes of finding love but what Gia found was an unforgettable one-nightstand. She couldn’t get this guy out of her head and against her better judgment began looking for him hoping that he was looking for her too. The problem with finding someone in a big city is that it’s nearly impossible to run into the same person twice, somehow fate intervened and Gia found her one night Romeo, unfortunately, he didn’t remember who she was!


    Gia spends the entire summer manufacturing coincidental meet-ups with the hopes of reminding her Romeo of who she was and why he should be more than a one night Romeo

    One Night Romeo

    I can’t say when it will be finished but I do plan on working on it until I am satisfied with it.