#38 Here Lies Amy
Here lies Amy, post meltdown. She wonders why she can never properly explain herself or why she can’t conduct herself right, even amongst other autistics.
“Who are you?” Someone asked her on a school bus at twelve. She just stared at the girl’s bangs, teased upright. Mute. No answer. For years, she asked herself, “Who am I? Is there an answer to that question?”
She wonders why even her meltdowns don’t come out in a normal way, quick and done. Hit and run. Hers are like giving birth, they take forever, and don’t end until every bit of electricity has been retched and convulsed out. Everything is fire. Skin. Hair. Nails. Brain. The whole universe trapped inside the body. Comets zooming. Supernovas happening. Black holes sucking.
Who is she? It’s like watching herself on a security camera. Why so staticky? Why is the volume on everything all the way up?