‘You’ll get used to it.” They said, and I waited. I waited for that Cat on a Hot Tin Roof click in my head that would mean it had settled into background noise.
But it never came.
Not for the seams on my socks, or the band of my bra, or the brace for my teeth or the glasses on my nose. Not for the elastic on my arms, or the lump in my sole. Not for the small pains or the big ones.
“You’ll desensitise with time.” They said.
So I gave it time.
More and more ticks and tocks, I poured them all into the deepening, widening hole of time. I gave it a year, then ten, then twenty, then thirty, and more. I gave it patience and space. I used distraction and all my tricks.
But still it stayed.
“There,” they said, “I told you all it would take is Time.” And I nodded, but I was still waiting.
I couldn’t control my senses. I couldn’t learn to get used to the clamour of this and that from the far-flung reaches of my body. I learned instead, that no one believed my body, so I shouldn’t either.
I learned not to pass on my sense’s lies to other people. Don’t spread lies. That’s important.
I was praised for becoming the filter between what I experienced, and what I emoted. Not deliberately. Not cruelly. Not selfishly or hurtfully or nastily. Just because they couldn’t see a world of difference, they did not know it existed.
I learned a lesson. I learned to listen to other people’s experiences. I learned that there is more to the world than my senses, there is more to the world than yours, and the more stories we hear, and share and believe, the better the world becomes.
You can teach me not to react, you can teach me to question my own needs, or you can teach me to trust my body. My raw sensory experience brings pains and joys. Help me minimise the pains, find me cotton, find me seamless, find me light, find me firm or loose. Help me by giving me permission not to put all that effort into ignoring it. Help me by empathising. Help me learn to be kind to myself.
If you cannot accept the things I cannot change, then you are doing us both a disservice.
I’ll share my world with you, its colours and its patterns and its perfect moments, if you’ll let me.