M in the Middle. The Students of Limpsfield Grange School

      Jessica Kingsley Publishers

      London and Philadelphia

      Part 1

      M’s World

      Secretly, I just want to be normal.

      FROM: [email protected]

      TO: ALL STAFF

      Subject: Year 8 Student – AUTISM DIAGNOSIS

      Dear all,

      Please be aware that I received a copy of letter from local NHS Trust that student M has a diagnosis of autism. Her mother requested that I make staff all aware of this.

      Any problems, I am available 1–2pm Tuesdays to Thursdays.

      Regards,

      Jill

      Head of Pastoral Care

      The Head of Pastoral Care, Miss Twinnings, sent an email to all the staff, explaining that I had a diagnosis of autism. Mum had to chase it up a few times but on November 30th she finally sent it. I heard Mum on the phone to her friend Jackie.

      “Seriously, Jacks, this bloody Head of Pastoral Care woman is so unhelpful… I just don’t think she believed that M has autism… I had to practically send the email myself!”

      Year 8 started well. It was much better than Year 7. Which had been difficult with Nev and Lara and their stirring and causing trouble for me and my anxiety had got really bad, out of control, but after I got the diagnosis things in my life began to make more sense. Me and Mum realised I wasn’t going mad and I wasn’t weird, it’s just I experienced the world differently.

      My diagnosis gave me some stability… So when I went into Year 8 I felt like I knew myself a bit more. As Fiona my counsellor said,

      “Life is going in the right direction and this is really positive.”

      And just like what Mum’s fridge magnet says,

      Positive things happen to positive people!

      I was able to concentrate more on my school work. I found new ways of working and even new ways of walking around the school, which made me much happier. Much more relaxed.

      But stability can W-O-B-B-L-e. Stability is a state that gets challenged and battered all the time. I like stability. I want stability but I wobble a lot.

      Lots of the teachers were more understanding to me after the email, but some teachers, like Mrs Chiswick, who teaches maths, said,

      “Autism sounds like a great excuse for behaving badly and not trying hard enough.”

      I’m good with numbers and generally can get the answers straight away but Mrs Chiswick wants us to,

      “Display our workings out in our books, otherwise I won’t know if you’ve cheated.”

      Mum would look at my work and say,

      “You’ve got a good instinct for maths M.”

      And I knew what she meant. I understand the numbers and where they fit well and how they should but it doesn’t matter, I still get Ds because I can’t explain how I get my answers.

      Corridors at St. Andrew’s have always been very difficult for me and most teachers let me walk around the school the way I wanted, but some teachers like Mrs Chiswick would insist I walk along the maths corridor and wouldn’t let me enter the class room via the outside fire exit. She said,

      “Use the corridors efficiently, like any normal human being.”

      NORMAL HUMAN BEING

      But you see corridors are a hostile territory to me and I wish I could saunter along them, so that I too could be one of these NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS.

      Corridors echo.

      Posters on the walls, s

       l

       i

       d

       e and fall.

      Windows can be open or closed.

      Lights flicker.

      Corridors: Tunnels, lined with doors which people can exit from, suddenly!

      Corridors off corridors. Corridors with staircases. Glass corridors. Cold blue corridors linked to overheated corridors, linked to dark brown corridors with draughts.

      And corridors change frequently. Lots of people – then empty. Posters change. Noticeboards change their information. Doors open and sometimes they SLAM shut, rattling the glass that rattles, and lacerates my brain.

      People rush down corridors.

      People dawdle.

      Some people d-r-a-a-a-ag their hands along corridor walls and then PULL a poster off a notice board.

      Very UNPREDICTABLE PLACES!

      The Beast of Anxiety lurks behind lockers and pounces on my back or waits for me, sneakily behind a door, ready to ambush me and stop me from getting to where I need to be!

      And corridors mean a change of situation. Crossing into a new territory! Transitions! CHANGES! And changes are not a good thing for me.

      And the blue, maths corridor is cold. And I feel like I am entering a hostile territory: unnerving peeling paint, cutting draughts and rattling windows.

      RATTLING WINDOWS + DRAUGHTS = FEAR

      BATTLE + RATTLE = ANXIETY

      PEELING PAINT + HARSH SUNLIGHT = HEADACHE

      FEAR + ANXIETY + HEADACHE

      does not equal a good maths lesson.

      So my grades in maths began to s

       l

       i

       d

       e from Cs to Ds and Mrs

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