Well it’s official. This world and this illness don’t get along.
We used to get along fine before it decided I was ill, before I needed to be explained. It just doesn’t make sense. Brilliance never needed an explanation, not before, not back when I was winning spelling bees and making everyone proud. Brilliance was the explanation, I was the explanation. And then the world gave its diagnosis. Perhaps it’s true, perhaps anyone in my position would have achieved just as much, if not more. Not that it matters. The world feels better about itself now and that’s the most important thing. Right?
So I went to the group I told you about, the one I swore I’d never join. I was desperate not curious. Clinging to the ideas of “similar folk”, of “celebration” and of “open forum format” like I suppose the doctor thought I would. Though I don’t suppose he thought I’d feel worse.
They had a self–appointed leader. Ryan I think his name was, though it could have been Josh. You should have seen the smug little look on his face when he found out I was “another grapheme”. It’s no different from the outside you see, we’re all identified by our affliction; he’s a bilateral sound/colour synth and I’m a grapheme; he’s maestro, master and arbiter of objectivity to the group and I’m supposed to join his band of merry sycophants. We’ll sit around and listen in awe as he vividly espouses the wondrous insights he has gained from his disability before exiting prematurely. In his absence, our inferior minds seek out the Scrabble set and another couple of hours sharing colours of letters with strangers.
The sad thing is I was desperate enough to go along with it all. It wasn’t until we were sat discussing our tiles that I realised how different I was from the other graphemes. All of our colours were at odds. Then, for a moment, there I was with the people I’d been so desperate to meet, that I thought could appreciate me for who I am, that should be sick of performing like freaks in a show, sat around the table discussing letters and colours as if itmade us interesting and worthwhile – the very same people who, not a minute ago, were enthralled byRyan/Josh and his unusual psychosis. That was when I realised they were people of the world like everyone else, that they saw things differently than I do, even letters. And so I left.
Now I’m at my wits end. This illness explains everything and makes the world feel better, butnot me. Even the group feel better. I must’ve been the only one who saw that smug little look on his face. Josh, Ryan, look, weak, liar, associations that exist solely in my mind and on my page. Maybe he is a weak liar. Illnesses are invented all the time to give people strength.
Remember the time when I was sure I wasn’t mad? Well that was before I’d exhausted all attempts at being understood. Now I know if I’m not mad, this illness is certainly driving me there. Maybe it is to blame after all. Either way, it doesn’t matter. You understand.Share...