Cameron is My Name – Autistic is My Pain

djbeulieu, 10-18-2007, part 1

I’m just a little people who cries when I’m in pain.

I happen to be a boy, but I hear girls can be the same.

I was born neat you see, like all mommies like us to be.

Then a man, a man in a white coat shot me.

It hurt, and I could feel the pain of the needle’s miscue.

I begin to feel, sick, off color, like standing in the damp rain.

But, it is all in my head, they say -- so that’s where I stay.

It’s all my head, they say – so that is where I stay.

I’m just a little baby you see; my mom is so proud of me.

I can see, I can feel, I can love even more than me -- you see.

But, that is going to change; I feel it inside me, burning,

creating a feeling of comatose and so I sleep a lot.

More and more every day, because of the painful churning.

I use to be mommies “sunshine boy” now I’m naught.

I’m her turmoil and mine too, I have to keep busy

trying to cope with the pain I feel, trying, and trying.

Yes, trying to keep my little body from dying.

But, it’s all my head, they say – poor mommy.

I’m just little, like the others I just want to live and play.

I want to be like the other kids who came from God’s clay.

Yes, He molded me the same, but then they came . . .

an MD, RN, PhD’s, and smart people, so they say?

So, why then is it, that in my mind, I’m forced to stay!?!

Why can I not come out to play?

Why Mommy why, what happened Daddy!?!

Where am I to go when the nights get cold,

and when the days are silently dark!?!

In my head I suspect is what they will still say,

Yes, they have already forgotten that is my symposiarch.

They have all forgotten the reality

 of where they decided to send me

to throb, to exist, to live, or to die.

I’m always in the shadows of my mind.

It’s so hard to control me during the pain

I have no energy left with which to love or play.

All I know, and all of who I am, tries to control the pain,

day after day, hour after hour, moment after moment,

The pain, the torment, the ripping, the agonizing suffering

God helps me to deal, to control, to keep me from exploding.

I get so lost in the flood of my own tears that I can not see

the love you have for me, I live cursed in the bindings

of my own mind, lost dreams; my own waist.

Now, my little body reeks with the agony

of its own excrement poisoning.

Yet, It’s all in my head you see,

 no real diagnosis for me

not today any way, not tomorrow,

and for sure, not yesterday.

But, it’s all in my head you see.

To so many of you; those MD’s, RN’s, & PhD’s

I’m just not real; I’m just debris you see

or you don’t you even see the me?

djb

This work is protected under the laws of U.S. and international copyrights. No part

of this work may not be copied or reproduced in any form without written consent

 of The author. © Donald j. Beaulieu 2007.

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Our sincere thanks, Don