04/02/2025
From the page mail 🥹 👇
I need help 😔
My name is Sam. I am fourteen years old, and I live in a small village in New York City. You might think that’s a contradiction—how can there be a village in a city as big as New York? But there are little corners of the world where time moves slowly, where people know each other’s names, and where being different is a dangerous thing.
I am different.
People say I have autism, though to me, that just means I see the world in a way they don’t understand. Sounds are louder, lights are brighter, words are trickier to grasp. I like numbers because they always make sense. I like patterns because they don’t change. I like routines because they keep me safe.
But school is not safe. School is noise and confusion. It’s people laughing at jokes I don’t get. It’s teachers rolling their eyes when I need more time. It’s classmates whispering when I walk by, tripping me when I don’t expect it, grabbing my books and throwing them down the hall. It’s names they call me, sharp as knives.
Freak.
Weirdo.
Worthless.
It’s been like this for years, but I kept hoping it would stop. Maybe if I tried harder. Maybe if I ignored it. Maybe if I acted like them. But no matter what I do, I’m still Sam. And to them, that’s not good enough.
Today was the worst.
I was in math class—my favorite place. Numbers are my friends. They don’t lie. They don’t pretend. But then Mark and his group decided to play another game. They took my notebook and passed it around, ripping out pages, laughing at my handwriting. “Robot writing,” they called it. Then Mark leaned in close and whispered, “No one cares about you, Sam. If you disappeared, no one would notice.”
I ran out. I ran past the teacher who didn’t bother to stop me. I ran past the janitor who barely looked up. I ran home and locked myself in my room. And now I sit here, writing this letter, because Mark is right.
No one cares.
At least, that’s how it feels.
I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I don’t want to wake up every morning knowing that another day of pain is waiting for me. I don’t want to be the person everyone laughs at. I don’t want to be alone.
But before I do anything, I have one question for you—whoever is reading this.
What would you say to someone like me?
What would you say to a kid who feels like the world has no place for him?
Because if there’s a reason to stay, I need to hear it.
Please.