Girl Unmasked: How Uncovering My Autism Saved My Life by Emily Katy

Author:Emily Katy [Katy, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Octopus
Published: 2024-03-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

‘She’s in

the clouds,

heavy and dark,

waiting to

fall like rain’

—Christy Ann Martine

The day that I decide I am going to die is a Wednesday.

The decision comes into my mind already complete – and so casually, as if it were simply a choice about what I would have for dinner.

‘Are you okay?’ Mrs S, one of our sixth-form tutors, looks at me kindly. Her eyes are soft and sincere, green, the colour of emeralds.

Memories fill my head of being young, at Brownies, the girlguiding group, helping with cake sales and camp meals, the chaos not feeling so chaotic because she was there, leading us. Liked and admired by all – staff, parents, and girls alike. Our interactions during those years had been brief, but I can still smell the freshly baked cakes and hear the bustle around us. But, sitting in front of me now, leaning forward on her chair with her hands clasped together, she is a stranger.

I nod in reply, aware of my leg bouncing up and down like jelly. Panic no longer overwhelming me, shame and embarrassment take over. I feel my cheeks burn red, and I stare at the floor, uncomfortable. I think of my new English teacher, back in the classroom, confused at me having fled so suddenly, having muttered only the words, ‘Sorry, I don’t feel well.’ She probably doesn’t even know my name yet, as we’re barely a week into the new school year.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks again, raising her eyebrows. She reaches for the tissue box beside her computer screen, pulling one out and passing it to me. It brushes against my hands, soft as a feather. I hadn’t even realised that my cheeks were damp.

‘Yes,’ I manage to say. The words feel hoarse in my mouth, dry. I need water.

I am in fact not okay, but I can’t share that with her. I am one young person in a sea of new Year 12s; I don’t need to burden her. She doesn’t even know me, and I don’t know her.

‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’

I shake my head, aware that the lack of conversation must be draining for her. I think she would like me to talk, but I feel only fury bubble inside my chest. This year was meant to be different. This was meant to be over.

Memories of the festival fill me. A dozen teenagers piling onto a minibus, me sitting next to one of the youth leaders on the journey, too anxious to engage. I had made the decision just four months earlier to join this church, desperate for a community, for acceptance, for understanding. Having grown up in a Christian family, I thought maybe this would be where I would find answers.

The festival itself was like nothing I had experienced before. Worship music blasting against my ears. A feeling of complete calmness. Surrounded by my youth group, new friendships having blossomed. Then me standing up, knees wobbling, walking to the front. A stranger placing their hand on my back, warming my skin.

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