The authorities would call my family only when I messed things up.

The authorities would call my family only when I messed things up. The moment they spoke to my mother and father about me, a warning would inevitably be delivered. Naturally, I would startle as soon as I heard their names. This did not only apply to them but included me as well. Because I was noticed only when I did something that disturbed the order, and was invisible the rest of the time, having my name called produced, reflexively, a sense of threat in me. “What have I done now?” I ask anxiously within. Not out of cowardice—but because if I drew too much attention, things could get out of hand. And precisely for that reason—even though I have no instinctive fear—there is a mechanism in my mind that makes me flinch at the smallest things so I won’t let the rope slip from my hand. The moment I step into society, I move into an internal state of worry and vigilance; it is not shyness or timidity but entirely a defensive reflex. My brain obsessively controls everything. For my mind has sworn to itself subconsciously, “Never again will I be unprepared.”