I'm Me

Trying My Best

Getting a date for homecoming kept occupying my thoughts. After so many years of not attending dances, I was thrilled to be going with someone.
This seemed too good to be true since my crush accepted my invitation. My experience with being bullied since elementary school  and junior high gives me the feeling that it could be a joke. Homecoming was in a few days. Until then, I would have to survive school that week.
Once again, the school was making me highly overwhelmed, and it was to the point where my mom thought it would be best to schedule a session with my therapist. Dad thought I was slacking off and putting things to the last minute, but that wasn't the case. It's never the case. Sometimes it seems like Dad thought I was faking my disability and using it as an excuse to be lazy. Mom seemed to be on my side, but sometimes she still gets frustrated with me. I wish she wouldn't get frustrated because I was trying my best.
After school, we drive to the office of my therapist Dr. Vicki Sanford. She has been my therapist since elementary school and has been helpful. She makes me feel like a person instead of someone that needs to be fixed. In contrast to most people who discovered I was autistic, she spoke to me like I was my age. I wouldn't say I like it when people talk to me like a baby when my disability comes to their knowledge; I was sixteen, not six.
Mom and I sat in the waiting room for Dr. Sanford to call me in. "How was school, sweetie?" Mom asked after enduring the long and uncomfortable silence. I always got nervous whenever she would ask about school. "It was okay," I replied in a quiet voice.
Honestly, I wasn't sure what she wanted me to say. "Did you turn in your homework for math?" She asked in a knowing tone. "Yes, I'm just waiting for the teacher to put it on my grade," I answered nervously, even though I was telling the truth. "I hope you're being honest with me," she warned.
"Why would I lie?" I didn't know why my mother was accusing me of lying. "You always try to hide your report card." Mom snaps. I want to say it's because she always yells at me if my grades aren't satisfactory to her, but the tension in the air is too palpable to say so. Dad would always yell at me too. I kept telling myself my parents had my best interest at heart and they wanted me to be successful, but the overbearing attitude was a little much sometimes. I didn't know how to say it to my parents.

"How have things been?" Dr. Sanford greeted me as I sat on the oversized comfy couch before her leather rocking chair. "Things have been a little better than last time," I responded uncomfortably. Dr. Sanford's office was comfortable and inviting, but sometimes I had trouble expressing my feelings because I was a people pleaser and didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

"Tell me one good thing that has happened lately; I'm sure there's something that made you happy," my therapist invited kindly. I thought for a moment, "Well, there is one thing," I looked at the painting of a sunny, happy garden on the wall, trying to relax. I trusted my therapist, but the nerves still entered my brain. "I asked my crush to homecoming, and he said yes," I told Dr. Sanford with a happy grin, and I stimmed happily, rotating my hands back and forth. Bursts of happiness moved through my body like electricity. "Julia, that's wonderful!" she grinned excitedly. "Thank you!" I stimmed even more. When I was excited, I couldn't control my stims.
"What's his name?" Dr. Sanford asked with interest. "Jack," I answered. "Tell me about him." "He's in my choir and theatre classes. He's also one of the only boys who really talks to me and is nice to me." I grinned, just thinking of him. "We have also been friends since elementary school."
"Do you like him?" My therapist asks with a knowing smile. "Yes," I reply with no hesitation.
The only other person I have told about my crush was Rachel.
The fact that you asked him to dance is very brave. Usually, girls expect the guy to initiate contact first." She complimented me on taking the hardest step of my life.
"That's something I never thought of," I replied honestly. "I've never considered myself brave because I always shut my mouth. Especially at school and at home." As I spoke, my voice trembled.
"Why is that?" "Because if I speak up about anything, I'm deemed disrespectful and defiant." I needed to talk about this, but I was anxious, and the irrational fear that she would tell my mother started taking hold.
"Thank you for telling me, Julia. I'm sure your parents mean well, and they want what's best for you because they love you." "I realize that, but I wish they wouldn't talk so intensely to me. That's what makes my anxiety go crazy." "You feel like you have no one to turn to?" "Exactly."

Dr. Sanford was one of the few people who understood me and took the time to do so. People didn't have to say it, but I knew I was a lot to handle. I don't blame my autism, I blame my anxiety. I always get attached to people I consider my friends, and when they walk away, I get devastated.
The therapy session helped my mind be more at ease. I also had the dance coming up that weekend, and it helped to have things to look forward to.
In choir, I sang my heart out with my friends and I let myself break out of my shell. Music and theatre helped me be the confident person I aspired to be. Most of my happiness in that moment came from the music. I noticed Jack looking at me with a smile in his eyes. My heart leapt with excitement. The boy I liked was finally noticing me and he would be my first ever date to a dance.