Make it make sense.
Blankets as sheets
Basements as comfort
Boxes of future life plans
Kept in stacks
Keep the c̶a̶s̶t̶l̶e̶ fortress walls—

Growing.
Leave her be.
It too.
That as well.
The darkness
Closed doors
Backwards habits—

Growing.
Attempts at the the ‘un-norm’
With a plea for a new normalcy of sorts..

Eventually—
One day—
Someday.
In a̶…y̶o̶u̶r̶…her—
wildest of
Dreams.

And all the untold stories—
From the Upside Down Sleeps.

—xoxo
A

Smile more they say
Why does she look mad
Is she okay
As they try to whisper walking past me
Unapproachable yet, I’m never approached
Oh face how you are perceived
Oh my face how you are mistaken as upset
Maybe I’m sad
Maybe I’m broken
Maybe I have a lot on my mind
Maybe I’m stressed
Maybe I’m none of the above & I am genuinely filled with Joy
You judge, but don’t ask me what is wrong
You assume I’m everything, but happy
Here’s the kicker I am okay
I am loved
I am in love with whom I am spending the rest of my life with
I am filled with joy
My facial expressions will tell you many things, but you won’t know till you ask
Get to know me before you mistakenly identify me as angry

Dear World,
Dear world and all the people in it,
I lived a life that was once in color, once bursting in vivid shades. But I can tell you that I didn’t take advantage of it at the time.
I lived a life that was diverse, full of unparalleled perspective beyond anything I’ve ever ever experienced academically or professionally. But I didn’t appreciate it like I should have.
I lived a life that was enriched with genuine compassion that was intertwined in the deepest love imaginable. And I miss it beyond comprehension.
Now my life is black and white. I no longer have long conversations of what life is about. I no longer have the same type of love I once had.
I walk around this big old world with a permanent shattered heart. While I may be whole on the outside, my inside is a remarkable kintsugi art piece. Broken in pieces, but somehow transfixed in the golden splendor of precious memories that both haunt and give me joy. I aimlessly navigate a world that is constantly going and flowing. One that does not care if my world stopped. I have to exist in this habitat that exudes the hustle and bustle of modern life and carry on like my life isn’t permanently and forevermore altered. It can’t go back to what it once was.
I long for the time of yesteryears; a period when mourning and grieving where outwardly shown. I wish there was a physical practice of wearing black or having a black wreath at the door to represent my concave heart. Where genuine concern and understanding where given to those in mourning. Those like me.
Instead I wake up every morning, wanting to scream at the top of my lungs of my loss. Scream that I’m not okay. Scream that my life is never going to ever be the same. But I don’t. Societal norms dictate to assimilate, to blend in like nothing is wrong.
I am a shadow of what I once was. And what I have learned since my own loss is that we are all shadows. We all are kindred spirits in the spirit of grief. I guess the good things about shadows is that they follow the being.
Just as life, it continues to attach and go on. Learn from me. Enjoy the color before it fades to black. Try and understand that everyone has a story and each chapter they may be going through may be the toughest yet. Be gentle with each person you come across. Love deeply and love loudly before loss catches up with you. Because it does eventually. And you will want to be treated with the same empathy and compassion when you do finally experience it.
In the meantime, because grief is misunderstood in this world, I am tethered by shadow and being.
Please let me be.

I look normal, though honestly, I am not.
You wouldn’t know or think twice. Usually my speech or repeating giveaway
A disorder, not fully aware, like to share and explain how it came to be,
The inner struggles, and hopefully food for thought.

My Mom was pregnant with me at forty-two
When the doctor gave her fear, saying I would possibly have Down syndrome or any disability.
But I came out healthy, no problems, double the blessings—-
Being brave and having faith as the breakthrough.

It began one evening when I was only three;
Dinner time was announced, yet I didn’t react or turn around.
My family called my name, screamed, clapped,
Trying to get any attention from me.

One diagnosis was I was becoming deaf;
But up close I could hear just fine, though not everything that was called “normal”
So the solution of having autism was left.

My parents took me to an autism specialist,
And after some tests, came with a smile and said,
“She does not have autism!”
Was the heartfelt testament.

Some signs looked like I have it,
But not correctly, especially how I talked to nurses, keeping their gaze with
A tongue not knowing when to quit.

The long-awaited solution took the form of a rare cause:
Auditory Processing Disorder, or APD for short, was the answer for how I hear and talk.
But for anyone who’s never heard it, come to a confusing pause.

What is APD? What is this disability disorder?
How I explain is like the brain “can’t hear,” may not hear everything,
Even if it was all in order.

For instance, say you tell me three things to do:
I may catch the first instruction, somewhat of the third.
Often the middle I didn’t hear fully, all muddled, not a clue.

I hear just fine, but not always entirely.
My speech sometimes takes work, accidentally repeating.
Visionary learner I proudly am, but everywhere is almost
Auditory teaching is painfully screwing.

I’m a fast learner in many areas, yet slow to learn in other depending sections.
Been jeered by peers growing up for being “slow,” and by teachers and other adults
Thought I was “disobedient” from given directions that
Lead to harsh corrections.

From age four to twelve, twice to three times a week
Having appointments, with different lady teachers, for speech therapy.
Wasn’t grateful then, as I am now, a therapist to a student
Hard at emotional work to teach me the right way to speak.

Almost daily in conversation can be a slip of the mind
It is repeating a topic, a joke, or a feeling that I had mentioned already before.
My words can get mixed up, like “say potato,” which can be misheard as “save turtle.”
I try to make sense, though mentally one thing to find, is give myself grace and be kind.

Even finding a job or more wasn’t always easy;
If misunderstood stepping in leads to overpowering stress, and not getting something
Right make anxiety all the more queasy.

It’s very easy to believe that you’re all alone and can be quite different.
Can be somewhat blessing and curse, though half quiet and kept to self,
Or more ways than one be outgoing or vociferant.

There is great beauty that doesn’t have to be like everyone else:
“I’m not normal, so I’m not boring!”
This world’s too busy to take precious time to see beauty in differences with reassuring
Words that are meant for restoring.

I want to make a difference, a purpose, for those who are like me.
No one is ever perfect. No more focus on what you can’t but focus on what you are able—
The secret of pure joy and growth of life is key.

Being misunderstood does leave a bit of a bruise.
Every day I have a choice to make——self-pity and hide away
Or look for great possibilities for a meaningful life
With an extra mile in my shoes.

I should know better than to think this letter will be understood.
Because for ten years, I wasn’t.
For ten years, I lived inside a body that did not belong to me. A mind that hunted me like prey. It was a cage with no doors, a nightmare with no waking, a monster with no name. And no one else could see it.
They only saw me.
They saw the rage, the desperation, the bruised knuckles and tear-streaked cheeks. They saw the breakdowns, the shaking hands gripping at nothing, the way I screamed for help in a language no one seemed to speak. And because they didn’t understand, they feared me.
I was fire, and no one wanted to get burned.
It feels like being trapped in a world that doesn’t belong to you. Like drowning while everyone around you is breathing just fine. Like you’re running from something that never tires, something that always catches up. You claw at the walls, at the people, at anything that might tether you to existence, but everything slips through your fingers. No one sees you. No one hears you. You bleed, and they flinch. You cry, and they look away.
And when you finally collapse, when you cannot take another step, they do not save you. They lock you away.
I have been in four psychiatric wards. I have been thrown to the ground by men twice my size, strapped down, drugged into silence, locked in a white room with nothing but my own screaming thoughts. I have been told to strip. I have been watched as if I were an animal. I have been denied my dignity, my humanity, my right to be a person. And when I cried, when I begged, when I told them I was still here, they looked through me. Like I was already gone. Like I was too far gone.
They told me I was a danger. That I needed to be restrained. That I needed to be protected from myself—and worse, that others needed protection from me.
But they never understood that I was the one being hunted.
That the monster wasn’t me. That it was inside me, twisting my thoughts, warping my reality, making me see threats in every shadow, rejection in every silence, abandonment in every fleeting glance. And the worst part? I believed it. It made me hurt people. It made me hurt myself. It made me into everything they already thought I was.
And then, like everyone always does, they left.
And I was left with a choice.
To die the way they always expected me to.
Or to do the impossible.
To heal.
Healing is brutal. They don’t tell you that. They don’t tell you that when the fire goes out, when the storm settles, when the chaos finally leaves your mind, you have to face what remains. The wreckage. The destruction. The people you lost. The person you became.
And the terrifying question: Who am I, if not this?
For ten years, I was told that I would never escape it. That I was a lost cause, a permanent diagnosis, a walking disaster. But they were wrong.
I was borderline.
But I am not anymore.
Not because of therapy, or medication, or anything they told me would save me. But because I saw it. The illusion of it. The sickness. The suffering. The thoughts that lied, the fears that never came true, the unbearable intensity that felt like forever but never was.
I saw the truth:
It was never me.
It was never who I was.
It was a storm passing through. And I was the sky beneath it.
They told me it was forever, but nothing in this world is. Not pain. Not suffering. Not even the mind itself.
There was a time when I thought I would always be burning. That I would always be drowning. That my only future was another hospital bed, another set of restraints, another needle in my arm.
But I know better now.
I know that even the deepest wounds heal when you stop picking at them. I know that even a shattered mind can find clarity if you stop believing the lies it tells you. I know that healing is possible.
Even for the ones who were told it wasn’t.
I am living proof.
And maybe, one day, you will be too.

What is one phrase to describe your life?
Misunderstood

The constant expansion of the universe
A little Pluto stuck within the midst of it
Am I important enough to be a planet?
Yes
No
Yes again
No once more

My head snapping tracing the never concluding question and it’s answers
My heart snapping at the reality
Warm liquid dripping from my eyes

The constant weeping breaking the unstable euphoric episode that lasted for months
Like a broken clock
Don’t bother asking me the time
You know I can’t read the signs

Sent away to get help
“For the sake of you”
But I see the look in your eyes that screams
“For the sake of me”

Because it hurts you to see me like this
But do you understand how much it hurts me to be like this?

Now I’m stuck
The medicine blocking the tears
Shaking in my soul as I become robotic

I’m so sorry I’m tired
I’m sorry I fell asleep first
I’m sorry, it’s my fault
But I’m better this way right?

All of this is worth the lack of a fight
Little Pluto you’re not a planet anymore
So stay quiet
Shove the little pill down your throat
And quiet down
You’re giving me a headache

So I did and now I’m no longer seen
How this truth rips my light out of my flesh
And leaves me a cold lumpy rock
No longer prolific enough to be something important

Swallowed through the universes expansion
Now I’m gone

If only you could step inside my head…maybe, just maybe, then you could understand me instead.

I tend to get judged based on what others think, see, or feel, but how do you know that what I go through isn’t real?

Constantly fighting my brain with things like my emotions or productivity tends to become a daily struggle for me.

I spent so long thinking something was wrong with me. Turns out, I just had undiagnosed ADHD.

See, people don’t understand that my brain just works differently.
I might not be “book smart” but my brain has powerful creativity.

I might seem lazy, but in reality, I’m overwhelmed and exhausted.
I seem distracted or disorganized cause the thing I just had, I already lost it.

People see mood swings and think that I have issues.
Emotional dysregulation is a struggle that I didn’t choose.

Regardless of the bad that people see in ADHD, I invite them to see the good in it too. We’re creative, innovative, and empathetic, to name a few.

Though we may struggle with things like emotions or being organized, ADHD is something that should start being more normalized.

See beyond the stigma and you’ll be surprised at what we can do.
We’re not broken- we’re brilliant, just with a different point of view.

Dear reader,
My name is Colleen and I have ADHD. I’m sending this letter in hopes that maybe my words can explain how I have been misunderstood my whole life because of my disability. Having ADHD is confusing enough as it is but there is also navigating the neurotypical world attached to it. Inside my head, my brain is always working overtime. So many ideas, tasks, attempting to stay focused in the moment, memories, worries about the future, and for some unexplained reason, background music 24/7.
Now that you know a little bit about what’s going on in the mind of a 35-year-old ADHD woman, it might be easier to understand why so many conversations I have are met with confusion and misunderstandings. When I am talking to you, I’m trying to navigate between what you are saying and all the thoughts going on in my brain. For example, I may trail off midsentence and jump from one topic to the next. It’s not because you are boring me or I don’t care about what you’re saying, my brain just can’t stay in one place for too long. I will take all your experiences and then tell you about a similar one that I have had. I am not doing this because I think my stories are more interesting than yours or that your experiences don’t matter, my brain just wants to connect our histories, by telling similar narratives, so that we can share and become closer. I might even interrupt you well you’re talking. I’m not trying to be rude, I want to say what I’m thinking right away, or I will probably forget what I was going to say. Even though it is difficult to express myself accurately at times, I promise I am trying my best to be understood.
My hope by writing this, you can try and imagine what it’s like to be someone with ADHD. Communication isn’t always easy and when there are discussions being held, I believe we are all trying to have what we’re saying be acknowledged with interest, love and care. I know that this is the experience of most neurodivergent individuals talking to others and often being misunderstood. As someone who struggles with situations like this frequently, I want to convey how important it is for others to take the time to ask questions, be curious, and have patience when talking to others. You never know what is going on in someone’s head and lives. Maybe when we strive to engage and listen to others then we won’t face misunderstandings any longer. Perhaps, by discovering how others communicate we can learn and grow together.

Sincerely,

“It’s okay. When we go, I’ll absorb all the attention.” This was the most comforting assurance I’d ever heard. Little did this person know – that being the center of attention has too often left me in a neurotic state. Yet the desire for recognition from others was always an innate, motivating desire for me. Somewhere along the way, I had developed the unalterable perception that recognition meant residence within the spotlight – where I’d seemingly receive the admiration of my peers. 

Over time, I eventually learned that my irrational, sometimes subconscious fears were symptoms of you, Anxiety. You interfered with my life constantly. Each time you paid a visit, I’d fall into an inarticulate and frozen state – losing control over my body as you confiscated the functions that normally run subconsciously. In my earlier years, you were a persistent parasite that had held the rudiments of my identity hostage. I hated the way you presented me – inarticulate, soft-spoken, and a wallflower – despite my yearning to be comfortable under the spotlight. 

My response was to fight you head-on. Instead of residing in comfort, I dragged you into the arena, into spaces where I knew your presence would be the strongest. There were many battles that you won as you deliberately drained my mental capacity to break me down. Many of these battles have ended in my shameful loss, leaving behind memories that are engraved in my mind. Eventually, however, I began to win some battles. I noticed that you won less frequently. With each win, I untied a small knot in myself that you had tangled up. 

I gradually found myself presenting characteristics of a loud, silly, and sometimes even obnoxious person. While these aren’t exactly positive traits, I liked this new way I was presenting myself. This new presentation ironically did not grant me the type of admiration that I believed that I desired in my younger years. I did finally, however, reach the point where I was comfortable in my own skin – regardless of whether I was in the spotlight or not. I realized that this was what I actually wanted. Piece by piece, I took back the building blocks of my identity that you had previously seized and I no longer felt weighted down by labels such as being shy or quiet. 

The battles continued, and I had finally developed a new perception of myself as I gained ground. However, that didn’t stop you from projecting me in the old ways whenever you decided to knock on my door again. I consequently oscillated between the conflicting identities. There would be times I would be reserved; while at other times, I would be affable. As I continued to teeter from within, I faced another obstacle; others continued to reinforce the traits that you pushed on me regardless of what I internally tied my identity to. They would remind me that I’m too timid, or not extroverted enough. These feedbacks developed deep dissonances within me; and in my moments of weakness, you’d swoop in and reclaim the grounds that I had endeavored to gain. Many times, I was left feeling like I was back at square one. 

When I do have the courage to look back, however, I realize that the setbacks were nowhere near as much as the progress I had made. Without you, anxiety, I would not be the same person. Your presence presents pressure that has forced me to face myself in ways that I normally wouldn’t have. I will always wonder how much easier life would be without you. Nevertheless, I still oddly appreciate the unique lessons that I have learned from you.

I want to tell you a story. A story that shows the voice of someone you might know. Just stay there and don’t move and listen, and you’ll hear what I have to say.

The murder of being different

I know I want to be alive
Alive to see my life continue
I want to continue my life
to see it through
I don’t wanna die
I dont wanna die to the shit that I see in me
I don’t wanna die
I don’t wanna die to any of that
I wanna see this through

(I need to be alive)

…

I need to be alive

…

Those that I see
struggle
In the face of pain
suffering
In the grips of addiction
Homelessness
Stigma
To a life of nothing
nothing

(I need to be alive, for them)

I want to be alive
So they can see
me
Be someone they can believe in
Someone they can say
knows what it’s like to be them
Someone they can trust
Someone they can believe
Someone they can see
that’s just like them

I don’t wanna see them die
I don’t want the murder
of being different
to take place

I’m a young man living a life that can kill. And I don’t wanna die. I realize how important it is to overcome that life.

I heal. And I can see the struggle that others have. I can’t fall back to what I use to do. It’s too important to live. Others need to know they’re not alone. That they don’t have to die. To what almost killed me.

…

Young people in the community of color. They don’t have what they need in life. What they need to know. What they need to survive. What they need to live. And what they need to succeed.

That voice of struggle that you hear. It’s from a young man. A statement of intent. A statement of survival. A statement of hope. A statement that their life matters too. To them.

That voice. Is me. I want them to see me. See my healing. See me in them too. I’m different too. And theres value in that. It’s not fair to be judged. Persecuted. Killed for being different.

The decisions made. By men like him. Different than you. Maybe not different than me…

But were still people too.

I needed help too.

See that I see myself in them too.

It means that these young men and women make different decisons. Not the same as you. Maybe the same as me.

this man. young men and women in struggle.

And sometimes not the best

Men that are different. Men that see lofe different

Not the same as you. Maybe the same as me. Sometimes we make bad decisions.

Being this different causes murder of the soul.

I am loving, I am caring I am kind
But you don’t see because insecurities make you blind

I give freely; I love hard
But my sincerity you disregard

My attitude is one of servitude
To you this may seem odd
But it’s a reflection of being a child of GOD

I give props when props are due
To this I will stay true

You want titles, a pat on the back and accolades
When I comment you think I’m throwing shade

I see the potential in you that others overlook
Your eyes show you have a magnetic hook

I apologize at times my words may be sharp and blunt
But it’s 2025 and there is no time to front

Life is short, we only passing thru
Time to wake up and do what we gotta do

I’m a straight shooter
But what you don’t know is that I’m a mentor and tutor

I give as much as I take
But I don’t have time to be fake

Don’t have time to be sugar coating
For the world to be out their boasting

The way I live, the way I talk, the way I act
This all real it’s just straight up facts

No one wants to see me for who I am
Always thinking I’m running a scam

All I want is for everyone to live and love better
Come together so we can make some of this cheddar

No matter what I do or how I try
Someone always twisting the truth into a lie

Why can’t you see, I just wanna be me

I’m just a real sista from the hood
That’s been mis-judge and mis-understood

So, just let me be
Cause you don’t know me