Invincible- a “special” story.
(Trigger warning- use of the word r*tard, mention of the Paris terrorist attacks)
I am 6 years old, sitting in my 1st-grade classroom.
I am not proud many days. This is new. This is something big.
I learnt to spell a word, all by myself.
I turn around and tell my teacher,
“ I learnt to spell team last night! T-E-A-M team!”
“Maggie, time is T-I-M-E. You spelt team”
“I know, Mrs.D! T-E-A-M team!”
“Class, tell Maggie how to spell time”
As I turn around, a boy kicks the back of my chair.
I am angry. I said team which is T-E-A-M not time no because that is T-I-M-E time and I said team and I know I did but they don’t.
I am 8 years old, standing in the gym.
My gym teacher puts me up at the green line, the other 3rd graders behind me on the blue. He guides my hands to hit the ball.
I miss, my classmates laugh at me.
He pats my head and leads me to the bench.
I notice how he doesn’t help any of the other kids,
how they stay on the blue,
and hit the volleyball perfectly.
He asks me if I want to try again.
I am upset. No one else goes up in front and no one else needs help and no one else misses the ball every time and no one else goes to special time in the resource room and no one else is ‘different’.
A girl whispers in my ear.
I am 10 years old, in the middle of the hallway.
I tell my 5th-grade teacher that I was diagnosed with ADHD and Dyspraxia over the weekend.
At the end of the period, my work is not done ( i was having a panic attack in the bathroom. I think my father is going to die because he is in Paris and there were bad people with bombs in Paris last week and now he is going to get blown up or shot because this is what 2015 is now)
My teacher tells the classroom
“many of you did not hand in your work. you will all have detention”
He sees me put my hand up.
“it does not matter that you have ADHD, Margaret. Do your work”
When I leave the classroom to go to my speech therapy, i hear the whispers and mocks of my peers for the millionth time.
“W-w-what are you going to do, w-w-wetard? gonna go cry? ”
I am newly 12 years old, sitting beside a boy who won’t leave me alone.
My middle schooler instincts are telling me to punch him.
I don’t- I can’t make a fist with my stupid fucking fingers.
“Your writing is so messy, even a baby can write better than you. Are you disabled? You look like you are”
I’ve stopped talking- I have barely talked since that day in 1st grade, when I learnt I was ‘stupid’.
I know my handwriting looks like two chickens did the cha cha slide across the paper.
I know that I’ll never be able to fly a plane,
Or say big words without stuttering.
It seems the world whispers to me,
I am 14 years old. This time, however, I’m on my bed.
Many things have changed.
I can say team (And spell it too)
I can hit a volleyball (Not well, but I can try)
My dad is not dead (I just said goodnight to him)
I can make a fist (I have been kickboxing for 2 years)
I am talking again ( I have found out that I do have things to say)
I have friends (I have many. In fact, I had two sleepovers last week)
I have a girlfriend (Those kids were right about one thing.)
I am sitting on my bed and I am typing what you are reading.
I am not a stupid, idiotic, retarded dumbass.
It didn’t take much for me to realize that- it took a kind person and a math equation and a character on Doctor Who and a computer.
I still go to the special class. I still attend therapy.
I am not bullied anymore- it just went away.
I am so very very smart and I know it.
izzy806
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