They Tell Me I Have a Superpower...

They tell me I have a superpower. 

They say I’m a special child.

They say I will go on to achieve great things when I’m older.

I sit in the corner of the room at 80 degrees from the fireplace so that my hands will receive the correct amount of warmth. I have my writing pad and my sketchbook, and I am writing a story about dragons.

My brother is playing outside with his friends in the treehouse. They are laughing and covered in mud because it’s winter and it’s just rained. It never snows anymore. I liked the snow better and that’s why I’m inside. But I will go out later on my own, so I can observe the trees and draw their roots. I have a book of trees and I’m collecting bark from as many different species I can find. My favourite species has always been Quercus robur. I love the way the light hits the leaves just right whilst I’m sat under the canopy in the autumn and it scatters like the gold sequins onto the forest floor. I love how when I look at a leaf up close it feels rough yet smooth on the underside; sometimes little bugs lay their little eggs in the shade of the leaf. They smell earthy and musty and every time I smell the leaves it reminds me of being under the canopy - I love the crunch they make as they dry up and fall as winter closes in. I love their rough bark and their strong roots that emerge from the ground like an underground creature. I love the way older ones have twisted branches, akin to the gnarled bones of a frail old wizard. Except they aren’t frail, because I climb on their trunks and up to their mid branches, and mum tells me to get down because I could ‘break a bone’ but she doesn’t understand that I don’t want to fall, I simply want to sit and let my legs dangle and watch how my shadow changes as the day goes on and the sun moves across the sky. She says I spend too long up there. Dad tells me to "come back to the real world". We have a lot of oak trees where we live. I draw them – I am drawing one right now. My brother is playing on one outside as I sit here.

They say that I am very inquisitive and curious. They say I have the mind of a scientist but they also say I’m creative like an artist. I enjoy their praise but I don’t understand how somebody could not be interested in these things. I don’t understand how one can simply walk past and hear a blackbird rustling in a bush and not point it out. I don’t understand how somebody would not want to study every inch of a Quercus robur, or the anatomy of a horse. Did you know an Arabian horse has one fewer vertebrae than other horses? I want to find the cure for cancer. I am learning about methylated genomes right now, and how oncogenes can be triggered depending on the environment around. I am glad we live in a forest because there is less pollution that could methylate my oncogenes.

My mum says she is proud of me for the achievements I make at school. The teachers often tell me I am talented. They say I am ‘gifted’.

I look out the window and see my brother playing and I know I cannot join him because he says I’ll embarrass him in front of his friends because I take my toy wherever I go. He says at ten years old I am ‘too old’ to carry a stuffy around. But my stuffy helps to keep me calm if there are loud noises. I squeeze her and wring my hands on her fur and the texture is soothing to me when I get stressed. I don’t know how people can survive in a supermarket. I will always take my stuffy if I have to go to a supermarket. Mum gives me ear muffs too. They help as the noise is so overwhelming for me, and the lights are so bright and the beep, beep beeping of the machines makes me panic. Sometimes even my stuffy and ear muffs don’t save me. 

I see my dad getting mad at Mum a lot. She tries to protect me from loud noises and he tells her I just need to “deal with it like everybody else”. She looks sad and frustrated a lot, but she still tells me I am talented and going to achieve great things. 

My brother looks so happy. His friends are laughing. I don’t have many friends. My dad says it’s because I am sometimes rude and bossy. I "don’t pay attention" enough but I am not interested in what people say a lot as it is pointless talk. Mum says it’s because they don’t understand and I have done nothing wrong. But I don’t want to be rude and dad says I am selfish a lot so I think it’s better if I play by myself in the playground. I didn’t used to notice it but people in the corridors give me funny looks sometimes. There is a group of girls that always seem to be whispering and giggling whenever they are near me. Maybe it’s because I have to eat lunch alone in a separate room because the lunch hall is too loud and I have to have ‘special’ food. Mum just says it’s part of my superpower. She packs my own lunch because the texture of some of the foods gives me ‘sensory overload’. Mum and Dad try to get me to try weird foods like roast potatoes and carrots but the texture is so wrong and I get very stressed out. My favourite food are strawberry jam and butter sandwiches. I eat them a lot. My doctor tells Mum I need more variety in my diet but I am scared to try foods that make me sick. Mum says I need my ‘special’ fuel for my superpowers but I don’t want to eat anything else. I don’t know why people keep trying to force me to do things I don’t want to do, like have my food touch. My therapist is trying to get me to do that. I do not like my therapist. 

I am studying a piece of bark of Quercus robur, rolling it in my palm and studying the texture. It is rough on one side and has indents and grooves where water trickles down it and forms pathways like the Mississippi river delta. It is smooth on the underside where I chipped it off the tree. It smells woody and slightly rotten as it’s been in my room for a while. I wish I could study its xylem but dad says we are not cutting the tree. I am drawing it with my graphic pencils, using 6B pencil for the shadows and outlines with 2B. I try not to use a rubber as this affects the texture of the paper.

Mum encourages me to go to birthday parties but I don’t want to go because there are uncomfortable noises and foods and smells. People are playing on big colourful apparatus that hiss and squeak too loud and everybody is screaming like idiots. I will sometimes go if she comes with me but we often leave early because I have a ‘meltdown’.

I didn’t use to notice but I think people look at me funny when I flap my hands.

They used to say I have a superpower. But now I am hearing it less as I reflect. There is a lot of tension in the home. 

Dad often shouts at mum. “Tell me how you expect her to grow into an adult if you keep rescuing her! Stop rescuing her. She needs to learn.”

I am learning and I don’t know what he means when he says that because whenever I try to tell him what I have learnt about my horse anatomy studies and Quercus robur he tells me “Not now I need to make a phone call.” People tend to walk away from me at school when I try to show them the book I am writing because their friends are involved in some pointless drama. I don’t understand why they are so interested in petty things like that. There are so many more important things in life. Like oncogenes and oak trees.

My therapist tells me we need to work on building my relationships but I am not interested in ‘building relationships’ when people tell me they “don’t care about some friggin’ oak tree”. So I keep my oak trees to myself now and same with my book. I don’t need anybody. I am not interested if this is what people are like. Dad tells me when I have a ‘meltdown’ that mum isn’t going to be there for me forever and I need to “get a grip”. Get a grip of what? I don’t know what he means when says that because it didn’t seem like he finished his sentence.

The heat is getting just approximately two degrees too hot on my skin so I adjust my chair in the dimly lit room. I stare outside at my brother again. He looks so happy. 

Things seem to be changing lately and it makes me very very uncomfortable. I have been having more ‘meltdowns’ lately apparently according to my teachers. They tell me I am very smart but I need a ‘reality check’. I overheard my therapist tell my mum that things will “become difficult in the teens as she becomes more aware of herself as being different.” 

I am confused. I didn’t think I was that different. But everybody says I am.

I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my pad on my thighs, observing my drawing.

They told me I had a superpower. But I am beginning to feel as though something is wrong, wrong like the texture of a roast potato. I don’t feel powerful. I don’t want to be called ‘different’ like my teachers and therapist says. My therapist asks me if I feel lonely. I want the funny looks to stop. I want friends who want to talk about oak trees and oncogenes and dragons and horse anatomy. I want my dad to stop shouting at Mum. I want people to stop taking me to supermarkets and birthday parties. I don’t care about them and they make me stressed.

Mum tells me I have a superpower. But the truth is, I don’t want to be special anymore. I just want to feel like somebody understands me. But dad tells me I don’t understand other people. But nobody tells me what they feel. How am I supposed to understand if they won’t let me? 

People have stopped telling me I will achieve great things and I need to work on my ‘emotional regulation’.

I look back at my page as I hear a loud snap. My pencil lead has broken. I try to sharpen it with my special sharpener but my pencil keeps breaking. 

Mum comes in and offers me a different pencil.

Anxiety floods me and I begin to cry because it is a different brand of pencil and it feels different in my hand. I hate it I hate the texture it’s too rough and it makes me feel sick. I like my old pencil better.

Mum says she will make me a strawberry jam and butter sandwich. She rushes to grab my stuffy and begins to hold me as the world caves in on me and start to rock. I think she is sad. Or tired. Or tired and sad. I don’t know but I feel she has changed towards me since what Dad said to her. 

They tell me I have a superpower. That I am ‘different’ and ‘unique’. But I am fed up of feeling different because everybody says I am. I feel like an alien. 

They say I’m a special child. But I don’t want to be special. I just want to study trees and write my dragon book and study horse anatomy and I want people to listen to me and stop telling me I’m special because it feels like a way to not listen to me now if I’m honest. 

They say I will go on to achieve great things when I’m older. But I am scared. What if I don’t? What if I let Mum and Dad down? What if I let my teachers down? 

I don’t want to change. I don’t want to ever not study horses and trees and write my book. I don't want to grow up. I don’t want to change. I don’t ever want things to change.

Mum holds me tight. I squeeze my stuffy. My head has stopped spinning as much. 

I like the way things are right now. I like who I am.

I don’t want to change right now.

* Author's note: This is written from an autistic child's point of view. It is very near and dear to my heart. Although it technically isn't fantasy or science fiction, I wanted to put it up anyway as it's what I took inspiration from the prompt. Happy reading.