Here is Me

Here is me.

I am Jack.

Here is me, and here is my autism.

See, I am a boy and a diagnosis tangled together like so many vines climbing a tree.

I am the rustle of paperwork, and small white pills in a vial.

I am honesty, and tenacity, and a body in motion.

I am a boy trying to hide.

I am downcast eyes.

And a hopeful heart.

I am repetitive behavior.

And special meetings in an overheated conference room.

I am letters on paper—a statistic., a number, a pie chart.

I am articles, and research, and notes in a folder.

I am the most delicious chocolate cake you have ever tasted on your tongue.

I am a baker.

A soda-stocker.

A noise-maker.

I am humanity.

I am hope.

I am here.

Here is me.

You cannot see words when people say them from their mouth. This, for me, is hard. I hear someone say I love a good campfire, and I have to go inside my brain. I look for the words, and I see bright orange light. I smell wood burning. I taste a roasted marshmallow on my tongue.

I remember the last time I saw a campfire. It was a summer night in August.

But by the time I remember it all—the glow of orange flames and the wood and the sticky marshmallow, it is too late for me. By the time I find the words, the conversation has dissolved into the air above our heads like smoke.

When I was a little boy with little legs and small hands, my mother would come down the hallway and call my name.

Jack-a-boo! Where are you?

Where I was, I’d stand up, and I’d walk into her voice.

Here is me.

This is what I would say.

Here is me.

I remember this.

I remember everything.

I remember her blue pants and the sound of her song which was not so good really, and the way she would swing me up with my small hands and my mouth smiled a littlest smile.

I remember the socks I wore when I was in 2008. They scratched my toes.

I remember the last time I ate.

I remember the way I screamed red hot white light in the room and all around me kids watched and looked.

I remember how this very much felt like a boat sinking under grey waves until no more breath was left inside me.

Here is me.

I am a disruption in class and screams off the walls. I am books on the floor.

I am teachers with nervous smiles, and murmurs into the intercom, and a room empty.

We all have bits and pieces of autism. They float within us like colors of light confetti. It is good for you to know this.

Maybe a schedule makes you feel safe, and warm. Like you are wrapped in a soft blanket.

Maybe you chew gum, or run many miles, or bite your nails to help your body feel calm and still.

Maybe you battle a wolf in your heart and you have scary thoughts that will not go away, no matter how many times you ask your brain to please please stop.

Maybe a small part of your heart is lonely and you feel like there is no one else in the whole world like you.

Are you lonely?

Or alone?

We all have autism. This is the thing.

I just have more of it. I have all of it. It gets in my way. It changes the way I move and learn and think and talk.

This is okay.

I am okay.

I am better than okay.

Hear me.

Here is me.

I am Jack, but I am also you.

I am your neighbor, and your brother, and the sixth-grader down the hall.

I am a family.

I am a legacy.

I am forever.

See me.

See my autism.

Acknowledge me.

Understand me.

Talk with me.

Inquire about the things I like.

Share the things you enjoy.

Meet me where I am. And upward, we will climb, like two vines on the same tree.

Written by, Carrie Cariello

Carrie Cariello is the author of What Color Is Monday, How Autism Changed One Family for the Better, and Someone I’m With Has Autism. She lives in Southern New Hampshire with her husband, Joe, and their five children. 

Carrie is a contributor to the Huffington Post, TODAY Parents, the TODAY Show, Parents.com. She has been interviewed by NBC Nightly News, and also has a TEDx talk.

She speaks regularly about autism, marriage, and motherhood, and writes a weekly blog at www.carriecariello.com. One of her essays, “I Know What Causes Autism,” was featured as one of the Huffington Post’s best of 2015, and her piece, “I Know Why He Has Autism,” was named one of the top blog posts of 2017 by the TODAY Show.

Interested in writing for Finding Cooper’s Voice? LEARN MORE

Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook, subscribe for exclusive videos, and subscribe to our newsletter.