Ode to Doctors

I spent the last twelve hours contemplating about me, nothing else but me. The last twelve hours was a torture. Minutes, seconds and still counting, adding onto the “Twelve hours” benchmark. I couldn’t sleep, though it was partly due to the weather. It was warm, roasting my insides slowly, bringing the flavor to the skin. I tossed and turned, licked my skin. It was salty and it smells like pizza. I tossed to my left, my pelvis felt awkwardly unusual in the usual comfortable position. I, in the fit of my anger, threw the blanket onto the floor. The word here is unusual. Take that literally. - Just as I want to vent out everything in my stomach, I don’t know how to phrase this into words. For others, it’ll just sound like a blabber from a liar, an idiot and a half-witted college boy. For me, it’s just something being unusual. I have yet thought of myself being unusual, though in my previous encounters; I was rarely thought and found as a weird person. I said it, the word here is rarely. However, I long that the report is a fraud. The inking on it, in black and white, is just a typo. The rightful owner of the report is Mathew Chew not Matthew Chew. They just sent this report to the wrong address, presumably by chance. Sadly, it’s not the case. I’ll have to face the fact that I’m diagnosed late for my syndrome, hoping that the spectrum would aid me rather than cause me harm. But, I’m puzzled about how I’m able to socialize for such a long time. The docs said it was a mild syndrome. Not a chronic one. I shan’t start whining about things and just learn to deal with it and perhaps, use them as my advantage. At least, I’ll learn how to switch in and out of my own world and control the intelligence I have been granted with. Hopefully, I require no medication. Hopefully… I can