he tiny box
Every day Marigold was required to strap the tiny box for 20 minutes. An automated voice sounded in her head, via the deep nano implants that had been placed as a child. “Breathe in for 20 seconds, hold your breath”- the instructions commanded. In the background Marigold could hear the waves coming in, this was not real of course. This was also part of the meditation. None of of it was real, but she listened intently to the waves, willing her nervous system to relax. She had long ago realized that she must follow all instructions to the letter.
Before the tiny box every single thing about her life had been unbearable. Every sound rose up to ears like a painful shards of glass. Every smell made her sick, even the pleasant ones became tidal waves of sensation. Everything was amplified and at top volume, all the time.
Her Dad who was a wild man by any standards, would sometimes come home slightly drunk, and toss her up in the air with joy. She would run away with a permanent grin nailed to her face trying to hide how bad it felt. When She was out of sight, she vomited violently in the basket. She had been diagnosed with sensory integration disorder, autism, and then simply sensitive child disorder. None of this got to the root problem, not exactly.
It was only in her dreams that she felt relief, she would often dream that she was floating in the air, at first pleasantly above her family and then she would drift farther and farther away. She recognized that for most people this would be a horrible nightmare, but as she drifted through the clouds, and then past the stratosphere, and into the hum of space it was only then that she could relax. She felt herself expanding the earth became smaller, she was aware of all the stars nearby and the pulsing rhythm of them, and the hum of the background radiation of everything.
But when she woke up, she was back on earth, this small too loud place that felt at once too much for her and not enough. Her nerve endings were on fire, always. She sometimes thought that she was simply never meant to be born into this too small body, that she had a talent for drifting. Earth itself was too confining.
For a long time there was no escape, but her father had an acquaintance who was a genetic engineer and neurosurgeon and this woman, Dr. Ilono had been kind to her. Even as a child Marigold remembered the sensitivity which Dr. IIono would speak to her. She whispered, and told her what she was going to do before she did it. I am going to stand up now and make a cup of tea.
The implants had been placed in Marigolds head when she was eight years old, but the tiny box, which was state of the art biotechnology that gave continuous electrical feedback to her brain, had only been ready recently. Marigold wasn’t simply meditating when she used it. Her brain was being augmented and re-wired. For a number of hours after each session Marigold was able to enjoy the sensations of being alive and relax into her own body. She felt comfortable where she was, even though part of her was missing. It felt good, even though Marigold did wonder if there was a place that could hold her and all her weirdness, as her dreams did, without changing her and making the way she experienced the world smaller, more manageable and muffled.
— 7Roses
Every day Marigold was required to strap the tiny box for 20 minutes. An automated voice sounded in her head, via the deep nano implants that had been placed as a child. “Breathe in for 20 seconds, hold your breath”- the instructions commanded. In the background Marigold could hear the waves coming in, this was not real of course. This was also part of the meditation. None of of it was real, but she listened intently to the waves, willing her nervous system to relax. She had long ago realized that she must follow all instructions to the letter.
Before the tiny box every single thing about her life had been unbearable. Every sound rose up to ears like a painful shards of glass. Every smell made her sick, even the pleasant ones became tidal waves of sensation. Everything was amplified and at top volume, all the time.
Her Dad who was a wild man by any standards, would sometimes come home slightly drunk, and toss her up in the air with joy. She would run away with a permanent grin nailed to her face trying to hide how bad it felt. When She was out of sight, she vomited violently in the basket. She had been diagnosed with sensory integration disorder, autism, and then simply sensitive child disorder. None of this got to the root problem, not exactly.
It was only in her dreams that she felt relief, she would often dream that she was floating in the air, at first pleasantly above her family and then she would drift farther and farther away. She recognized that for most people this would be a horrible nightmare, but as she drifted through the clouds, and then past the stratosphere, and into the hum of space it was only then that she could relax. She felt herself expanding the earth became smaller, she was aware of all the stars nearby and the pulsing rhythm of them, and the hum of the background radiation of everything.
But when she woke up, she was back on earth, this small too loud place that felt at once too much for her and not enough. Her nerve endings were on fire, always. She sometimes thought that she was simply never meant to be born into this too small body, that she had a talent for drifting. Earth itself was too confining.
For a long time there was no escape, but her father had an acquaintance who was a genetic engineer and neurosurgeon and this woman, Dr. Ilono had been kind to her. Even as a child Marigold remembered the sensitivity which Dr. IIono would speak to her. She whispered, and told her what she was going to do before she did it. I am going to stand up now and make a cup of tea.
The implants had been placed in Marigolds head when she was eight years old, but the tiny box, which was state of the art biotechnology that gave continuous electrical feedback to her brain, had only been ready recently. Marigold wasn’t simply meditating when she used it. Her brain was being augmented and re-wired. For a number of hours after each session Marigold was able to enjoy the sensations of being alive and relax into her own body. She felt comfortable where she was, even though part of her was missing. It felt good, even though Marigold did wonder if there was a place that could hold her and all her weirdness, as her dreams did, without changing her and making the way she experienced the world smaller, more manageable and muffled.
— 7Roses
This is an intense piece. The description of how the world is percieved by a neurodivergent person is well done.
ReplyDeleteI identify with Marigold's response to sounds, though my sensitivity came and went. I am wondering if this really can be done to people, or if you invented it. The "Small Box" of your particular story is a LIFE-SAVING box! ---Macoff
ReplyDelete