The Pen of Worth

When I was at first school, we all had to write in pencils, until we were deemed ‘good enough’ for the handwriting pen. Now, I was a late developer too, learning to read and write later than other kids (though once I started, I couldn’t stop!), so at first school I was probably seen as “below average”. At middle school too. It wasn’t until secondary school that my ability went anything above “below average”. I even went above average in some subjects; not maths though, never maths. I think that was an indicator of my autism. Because I thought in a different way to the set tasks, I never felt good enough and I couldn’t get the grades, throughout the majority of my life.

Let me get back to the handwriting pen. Okay, so I was a late developer, and my handwriting could not be read very easily (though some teachers who cared had learned my handwriting, like it was some new language or something), so I did not get my handwriting pen. At the end of year three, everybody else in the entire year had a handwriting pen, except me. I even lied in middle school, saying that I’d received the handwriting pen, because I didn’t want to be seen as different.

This handwriting pen seemed to symbolise how worthy you felt as a person: the earlier you got it, the better. If you didn’t get it at all? Well, you suck, don’t you? It was such a small thing but it meant a lot and that was something that knocked my self-esteem. I was never worthy of that pen when everyone else was.

Why did a pen define us? What that pen did to me, to my confidence, doesn’t mean that I wasn’t worthy of another pen. Maybe I was worthy of a different kind of pen.

Have you ever had small things knock back your confidence? If so, what?



So, I was at my autism group today — as I go to most Tuesdays, excluding next week because I’m on holiday! — and there was a new boy. Well, two new boys, but this particular new boy is the one I’m gonna talk about because this isn’t the first time I’ve seen him.

In fact, we were at school together for years, in the same class, and he was alright – sometimes a bit annoying but sometimes nice. He had a few anger problems and I remember this one incident when he pushed a girl to the ground and she really over-exaggerated it, claiming she couldn’t remember anything, just because she was quite attention-seeking and manipulative. To be honest, I was glad he pushed her over — but that’s not the point! He got in trouble for that, and we just thought he had behavioural issues, but we never found out the reason.

I found out today though. It was a very late diagnosis, apparently, even later than mine — but I now see those memories so differently to how I did before. Before, I saw him as a boy with anger issues; now, I see him as more similar to me than I thought. He was nice today but it’s made me think.

Lots of people have issues that are invisible; like me, like him, and they get judged for them because they’re invisible. People wonder why they’re so out of sorts but then they don’t know the real reason. I didn’t know the real reason but now I do and I guess my mind feels a bit cleaner, if you get what I mean. He didn’t know the reason either but now he does. We both do, I guess.

Someone might get angry, or they might assume, but that isn’t their fault and you should make sure you make them feel appreciated. Don’t ignore them, don’t leave them out; if you give them the friend they want, maybe they won’t get angry, or maybe they won’t assume. We just want to be understood and once we’re understood, then we’ll be happy, and you can be happy too. 🙂

Thank you so much for reading this post

Got any suggestions? I’m open!

Lia 🙂

Am I Fat?

That was a rhetorical question by the way, so don’t answer it. 😉

I’ve suffered from depression for a long time, probably since I was about eight, but it was never diagnosed until I was about twelve, when my parents found out I’d been causing harm to myself. Depression is something that doesn’t just get better with an “it’ll be fine”. When you’re told how worthless you are for a long time — at school, you believe it, and it will never go away. I was once a really confident and bubbly kid, turned into something unsure and assumptive because of what people have said, because of what I have said to myself.

Despite having some really caring friends now, I still know some people that make me feel rubbish, but I can’t do anything about it. They make me feel like everything I say or do is wrong, that it’s my fault. Maybe it is my fault, but I’ve been called wrong so many times that I don’t know the difference between right and wrong anymore. It’s like it’s been put in a blender and mixed together. I can’t understand it. Often, people say that what I consider wrong is right, and that what I consider right is wrong. Then other times, they don’t. It’s confusing.

So, this leads me to the title of my post, my depression often leaves me turning to simple comforts. Sometimes, that simple comfort is food. I might binge eat sometimes. Other times, however, I don’t eat at all because I realise how disgusting I was being. I don’t seem to have an in-between. I feel really fat, really really fat, despite the fact that I’ve been told I’m not. I just can’t stop thinking about my weight — I even got a treadmill for my birthday to try and lose weight. But I feel sad and I feel fat and I feel horrible too. I don’t feel like I have any positive characteristics. I’ve certainly been told by people that I don’t and the only time I’ve been talked about positively is to do with my skills, which is just to do with what I can do, not what I am as a person. So I don’t really know where I stand.

Am I fat? Am I horrible? Am I really worthless? Do I listen to the voices inside me telling me that I am?

I guess I’ll never know, really, as much as people tell me that I’m great blahblahblah or that I’m awful blahblahblah — both types of people could be lying, but it’s hard for me to identify the truth and the lie. Because what people believe is their truth and if that person believes I’m a bad person, then I am a bad person.

I just want some answers, proper answers, ones that shoot through my body like an electric shock. I don’t want to be confused anymore.

Thank you for reading this post,

Lia 🙂

That Time I… Almost Killed My Mum?!

Okay, so when I was seven I won a dance competition. The prize was four tickets to this amusement place called ‘The Milkyway’. It was really great there — lots to do.

I was having such a fun time, as was the rest of my family, until one devastating mini golf match. I was doing quite well, actually, and probably could’ve won… In my defence, my mum was standing too close to me.

You can probably imagine what happened next. I took my swing and the next thing I know, she was on the grass, holding her head, which was bleeding. Obviously, I felt terrible and like I was a criminal. I actually thought the police were coming for me and I was really crying.

I went in the ambulance with her and she had stitches. She was more comforting me than the other way around… I was in a terrible state! She was fine after she’d had the stitches done but I really felt like a criminal.

I hope we both learnt out lesson: don’t stand too close and always look before swinging…

Thanks for reading this post,