Zamzar

If I tried to smile, people told me to stop smirking. If I was being sincere, people told me to stop being sarcastic. If I was being sarcastic, people took me literally.

Words didn’t make me friends, or make people believe me when I was telling the truth or make people understand my experience when I was stating it as clearly as I possibly

could.

My brain has never, for a single moment, been quiet. It is constantly chattering to itself, analysing everything into oblivion, second-guessing itself, second-guessing the second-guessing, reliving an argument, reminding me of that dumb thing I did, which reminds me of all those other ‘dumb things’ I did, finally thinking of the perfect comeback in that argument I was reliving ten minutes ago, and SUDDENLY REMEMBERING I’M GOING TO DIE

ONE DAY. It’s constantly bouncing from topic to topic and back again, taking detours, changing the subject and switching back without warning in a way that only I can follow. If it’s frustrating for the people around me, I CAN NEVER SWITCH IT OFF. Trust me, nobody is more exhausted by me than I am.

One school report opened bluntly with the sentence: ‘Phew – what a talker!

And only when it suits her.’

The concept of an unspoken social hierarchy was, at times, painfully clear to me, especially when it came to the ranking of popularity. But when it came to authority, it was utterly lost on me.

If someone was wrong, I corrected them. If a tense situation was unfolding in front of me, I was the one to bluntly name what was happening. If someone asked me a question, they got an honest answer. It took me many years to work out that other people need the truth gift wrapped for them.

The bullying, because of course there was bullying, was a mixture of active bullying – mostly taunts, name-calling, taking my things, playing

unkind pranks on me and, most deliciously, trying to make me cry

I’ve often been asked why I’m so terrified all the time. To that I say why isn’t everybody else terrified all the time? We are all in constant danger every second of every day.

I was so allergic to anything resembling physical activity that it seemed too extreme to be true.

In addition to being a picky-eating weakling, I started to have unusually strong reactions to physical sensations.