Stop Judging Me! (boyxboy)

Prologue

When I was young, I was quite a peculiar child. Whilst other children my age were running around the street, playing tip or drawing on the pavement with chalk or simply hanging out with friends, I was inside, following my mother around, trying to help her with the housework. I loved to help out, but I wasn't the biggest fan of cleaning, so Mum would decide to make a game out of; we would race to see who could fold up the clothes first, and the winner would get to choose what we'd eat for dinner. Sometimes, she would hide a dollar somewhere in my room, and I'd have to clean my room to find it. My brother Mitchell and I would try to clean up the living room within ten minutes, and being as competitive as we were, Mitch and I would strive to outdo the other, much to our parents' amusement.

Instead of communicating with others my age, I would sit at the table and read a picture book with my brother leaning over my shoulder, correcting my mistakes; I would draw pictures on my father's paperwork, and paint the pathway blue. I would crawl around the backyard, pretending to be a dog, and playfully bite my dad on the ankle. Occasionally, Mitchell and I would pretend to be Indians, and camp in our back yard, eating the sandwiches we made all by ourselves, and we would fall asleep just before our tent collapsed on top of us, and scare our mother half to death.

Another thing that sets me apart from the other children was the fact that I didn't play with the other children. I barely left the house, and would scream and shout and hit and bite my parents; when I continued to do the same thing when I turned nine, my patents had taken me to a doctor who had referred me to a specialist.

Social Anxiety Disorder. I remember the day I was diagnosed clearly, even though it was so long ago.

My face was red, blotchy and twisted into an impossible scowl as I clung to my mother's waist and my father's hand. I was sitting on my brother's lap, and he tried his best to cheer me up, promising to let me read his comic books, and tell me where his candy stash was. None of it worked though, and the specialist had been staring me shrewdly. He frightened me, and whenever he went to talk to me directly, or even so much as touch me, I would begin shrieking and sobbing and move closer to my mother.

"Mr and Mrs Harris, after observing your son interact with others, I think I may have come up with an explanation to why Jackson has… trouble interacting with other people."

"Yes?" My mother asked worryingly, hand rubbing my back.

"Mrs Harris, I believe that Jackson may have Social Anxiety Disorder."

"Social-what… what is that?"

"Social Anxiety Disorder, generally abbreviated as SAD, is, as heard in the title, an anxiety disorder which affects social interactions. Sufferers are unable to enter social situations without having some form of panic attack, whether it's vomiting, convulsing or simply fainting. The thought of going outside, even with people they are familiar with, is enough to start an attack. I would like to do a couple of tests to-"

"There has to be some mistake," my mother stressed. "My son is a happy and normal nine year old boy-"

"Who cannot interact others without having a fit. I'm sorry, but this is the only conclusion I can come up with. As I said, I wish to do a couple of tests - no ma'am, I assure you that they are completely harmless."

"If Jackson has this-this disorder, then is there any… cure or –"

The specialist put a hand up, silencing my father before speaking. "Like most disorders, there is no known cure. There are some people who overcome their disorder, but it is never truly gone. If Jackson has Social Anxiety Disorder, then I can recommend an excellent psychologist, and they could give him a script for Prozac if it is needed."