Don’t touch me, please….

Don’t touch me, please, just leave me alone, and if you talk to me, just look across the room when you’re doing so, because I’ll be doing the same, I’ll be looking away, but listening, and listening still, I’ll see the words in their letters bound, with all the possible meanings that might be there, I’ll stop, I’ll halt, I’ll run along, I’ll interrupt, I’ll be not calm, my hands will wander, my fingers will pick and pry, I’ll look at you when you’re looking away, but I’ll be listening still and listening still.

When you walk away from our talk’s circuitous talk, I’ll wonder still at the words and then.  I’ll wonder for a while and decide, and then I’ll send them away, like you, in their categories, their phrases and their speaking and thoughts.  I understood it all, or most of it and then, sometimes I got some of it, but not all of it, and it registers in some forms, but not in others’ nuances.  It makes sense most times or sometimes, but not in other times, and you won’t know which it is, in these or those, not now nor then.

Sometimes your words scrape the insides of my ears before they reach my brain.  I hear their clicking and crunching ways and the wet spit that sticks to their sides, I notice when some letters are missing, like when your mouth gets lazy or you talk too fast, they catch in my ear canals when you say them wrongly, improperly, incorrectly, out of place, out of tune, out of context, in error, in mis-thought, whatever, when you emphasize the wrong syllable or say coush instead of couch.  The letters get jammed up in my ears sometimes so the other words can’t get through and then I hear your voice rise and rise and the letters get more jammed still, they run and run and crash into the sides of my insides, my ears and veins and arteries, too, they make my lungs pump harder and harder and faster still, the words are still clogged in their letters’ catching and the thoughts are gone and the letters become numbers and I hate numbers and they’re all a-squiggle and mean nothing as my heart is pounding in my head and my fingers pick their other fingers and everything gets fuzzy from the inside, hazy and undefined and I don’t know what you’re saying and thinking and your eyes are piercing when I glance at them for a micro-second from my turned head and I hear the spit in the corners of your mouth squish and squash as your mouth flaps and keeps throwing other words and letters into my ears and I wish you’d just shut-up and leave me alone and please don’t touch me, just go away, don’t step any closer or any closer, don’t talk any louder or any louder, just close your mouth and leave before I explode in your face with my eyes wide wide open and hands curled into fists and I’m staring straight ahead but looking for something to throw or hit and my hands crash into my head and I scream at you and pull my hair and scratch my face and I’m suddenly strong with a stupid strong and you can’t hold me, no, get away, leave me alone, stop talking, don’t touch me, the letters are all stuck and I hate you and I hate me and you get away from me and what do you want and what did I say and my cat died when I was four and you went on those stupid interviews and it snowed today and it rained today and where’s the goddamned sun today and it’s okay if you’re shy and I didn’t have a melt-down so that I wouldn’t have to finish my homework and I said it myself and the baby was crying and I just wanted to help and go away, just get away, and stop with the words, don’t touch me, put your eyes away…and hold me, crush me, just wrap me up, hum a deep hum deep into my core and the parts of my cells, just be a nothing with me for a minute more, until I don’t feel these things anymore, just for a minute more, long minutes more, until the letters get unstuck in my ears and I can hear what you’re saying again, just leave me alone, don’t touch me, please…but don’t let me go.

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12 responses

  1. Nut

    That is so incredibly beautiful, and so incredibly right on. What a great post, Dad. I love it 🙂

    June 25, 2011 at 7:35 am

    • Thank you, Nathan. 🙂

      June 25, 2011 at 7:42 am

  2. me

    You are so amazing. I love this so much and wish other people could see it and understand.

    Thank you, Scott Grill.

    June 25, 2011 at 7:57 am

    • Wow…thank you, Lori Kim. I’m so glad you enjoy it so much…and maybe more people will see it. You’re very welcome.

      June 25, 2011 at 11:08 am

  3. Powerful beyond belief! At moments I thought, “who in the hell got inside my mind and heard me?” It’s strange to hear myself in another’s words. Thank you. Thank you.

    June 25, 2011 at 8:07 am

    • Are you part of that world, too, my blog friend Robert? Thank you for your words…and you are so welcome for mine…touching. 🙂

      June 25, 2011 at 11:10 am

  4. jason

    A glimpse into the world of autism I assume? frightenly accurate one would assume…thank you for a new understanding of another reality…

    June 25, 2011 at 9:06 am

    • Yes, dear Jason, it is that world…that other reality in some of our lives. You are welcome, as always, and thank you, too.

      June 25, 2011 at 11:13 am

  5. Kelly

    Wow! It’s amazing that while you’re reading this, as you get deeper, you feel so overwhelmed. My heart was beating so fast right towards the end and my brain felt like exploding. It is so amazing to feel even a fraction of what he feels, a small insight into his world. Such wonderful abilities you have. 😀

    June 27, 2011 at 4:23 pm

    • Yes, Miss Kelly, I understand how that feels…it’s like that writing it sometimes…being overwhelmed as such. Thank you for visiting…and for sharing your sweet words. 🙂

      June 27, 2011 at 8:01 pm

  6. In the school, where I taught I met many children who had similar feelings to yours. The speed and noise of state school seemed so confusing for them. To strangers, they rocked, or spun and made no sense. But the children in their class reached out to them, softly learning to support without touching, to steady their own speech, and to realize they did not always understand the rules to their games. I loved watching this, learning from it, helping to overcome any barriers.

    But your post, is so beautiful, and explains the feelings I saw in those wonderful children. Thank you for sharing.

    March 2, 2012 at 3:20 pm

    • It seems like you had some autistic children in your classes, then, Marion. What you described is so classic. And it is comforting to see the other children realize the difference and then modify their own actions to help the others.

      Thank you for the kind words about my post. It is actually about my son, my Little One, or in his voice anyway. Thank you again, for visiting, and for your nice comments. 🙂

      March 2, 2012 at 3:39 pm

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