Don't worry, it'll be alwhite..

Well, the white walls do make it look rather sterile but it seems to be very cosy in here with all the padding on the walls doesn't it?

I don't mean to be rude but the jacket you've provided me seems to be too small, are you sure you got the right size?

I can't move my arms and I have an itch on my nose.

Would you please scratch it for me?

Thanks for that.

Why do I think I'm here?

I don't think it, I know why I'm in here.

I've entered all these contests for a free holiday in Queensland, stating in twenty five words or less why I should be sipping from a glass with a little umbrella in it, dozing on the impossibly white sands in a skimpy bikini designed by Jennifer Hawkins whilst whales play happily in the waves and the fuckers in charge can't even send me pissy second prize.

The relaxing and calm atmosphere in here is the next best thing, believe me.

I don't know why I should be telling you about myself. They warn people these days especially not to post things on the internet, like pictures of yourself and personal information because it could be quite dangerous.

Besides, finding out who I am is your job, not mine.

My job?

Well.

I shuffle bits of paper.

Sometimes I write on them.

Then I might staple them.

Occasionally, I'll sign things.

It's all fascinating stuff.

This pill is rather large you've given me.

Can I curl it under my tongue and pretend I've taken it?

No?

Ok, I'll swallow.

I normally wouldn't do that sort of thing but you seem quite nice and I like you.

I'm feeling rather sleepy now but I have two sons who need me you know.

Could I go home now please?

I am confronted. Again.

Another godfuckingdamn label.

Aspergers Syndrome.

I got the form today.

Johnny is my christening godmothers youngest son.

As a child I remember how different he was and the nervousness I felt when around him which didn't dissipate even as a young adult when he came to my wedding.

He stared blankly, with a look I now recognise, into the camera when the traditional family pictures after the service were taken.

Recently, his older brother proudly told me of his enormous talent for reading and memorising maps.

Johnny, now in his early thirties, was a walking GPS unit when they recently were in London having memorised the entire train network and most of the area they were in whilst they were visiting their sister working over there.

None of his family probably knew what it was he had back then or if they did I don't believe they understood it.

Certainly there was no name they gave to us.

We just knew he was different.

The uncomfortable feeling he gave me is most certainly the feeling others have around my youngest son Mark.

Not that I blame them for that.

Pot. Kettle. Black.

And shit, I would have given anything, anything to "cure" him.

To save him.

To undo whatever it was that I had done to make him this way.

To rid the guilt.

The realisation of how futile, desperate and pathetic those actions were came like a blow to the head.

In all that time when I couldn't accept his diagnosis of autism I never stopped to think I wasn't accepting him.

My son.

The person.

The human being.

And so it must be with Matthew as well.

He may be.

He may not be.

Sign the form, take him to the shrink.

Find out.

Perhaps.

Tonight after dinner I just limped towards the bed then curled tightly into a ball, sheets over me, the door shut so he wouldn't see me.

Mentally rooted.

Bereft of rational or calm thought.

Tomorrow I may throw myself at it, embrace it, accept it, love it.

Or maybe next week, or next month.

Not today.

Just not today.

A week and half ago on his birthday I was driving him to school.

La Roux on Triple J was singing about how she would be bulletproof (this time).

He said to me from the back seat "Mum, I'm twelve now and I've got my whole life ahead of me".

Our eyes met in the mirror and crinkled at the corners.

"Yeah, you do" I told him.

You do Matthew, you do.