What Red Means to Me

In early 2025, something just clicked. It happened after a medical incident where I had chewed the inside of my mouth—hospitalized for a short while, drinking out of a straw for a week. It hurt, but I healed. Why did I chew so much, to the point of pain? I couldn’t feel that either, but that’s a different disorder for another day.

Then, the pattern recognition paid off. For three days, my brain was a ruminating calculator. I thought about my life and all its interactions: how I felt, how I socialized, what I liked, and how sensitive I was. I figured out that I’m neurodivergent, a realization that eventually led to a formal diagnosis.

I was flooded with feelings. Sadness, for being so painfully good at the art of masking. Anger, that I hadn’t been truly seen.

But over time, I learned. I soothed my nervous system.

Enjoy this is a poem about how a little bit of color, introduced to a dull painting, changed my life for the better.