When I was 14 I had a 2 years old cousin. I've never been a kids person. Especially babies. I don't think I ever interacted a lot with her when she was little. I couldn't have picked her among other toddlers, honestly. We both studied at the same school. One day, while waiting for the teacher to open the lab one of my classmates said 'Hey, isn't that your cousin?'. It was, indeed, my cousin. She was all alone at the canteen (I guess, for lack of a better term, as it was the room were nursery and preschool children ate). I think the lights were off, as every other kid had been taken to another classroom for nap time. Then my cousin's teacher came, grabbed her cheeks and put some food in her mouth. It was almost last period. When I got home, I told my mother. She immediately called my aunt. Long story short, I volunteered to talk to the headmaster about what I'd seen.

Next day my aunt took the day off from work and I was called into the headmaster's office to explain the situation. Honestly, I was never afraid. I didn't doubt what had to be done, not for a single second. My mother was at the same tame quite proud of me and a bit worried. My father, more on the prudent side, was kind of alarmed, maybe. I don't recall who was with my at that office. Certainly not my parents, as I was adamant that it there was no need at all. I don't know if my aunt was there. I don't know if I said what I said in front of the teacher herself. I guess she wasn't there because I do know that my mother told me her reaction a little after, at home. Anyways, fourteen years old me was absolutely certain and not even a little bit worried about going to the headmasters office by myself and accusing a nursery teacher of doing something improper to a 2 years old. 

I was explained by all the adults involved that it wasn't necessary, that it could be nasty, that... whatever you can think about the situation they probably told me too. I didn't see why going somewhere that I went daily to anyways (like, it was my school...) and telling a truth that could be easily checked would have to mean any kind of trouble for me. I saw what I saw. Some of my classmates saw what I saw. We all knew my cousin wasn't a decent eater. She hated fish, as many in my family do, and their parents didn't force her too much because she had a delicate stomach (she was later diagnosed with celiac's). So when the kid got home all smelling like fish probably with some kind of report about refusing to eat her food, and I witnessed the teacher stuffing the poor kid with fish while the others were already sleeping... I think I'm going in circles here but I just want to express how much this was a non-issue to me. I wasn't telling any lies. I was known to be a good student, always polite and with great marks. Why would anyone have an issue with me when I was just a witness to an improper behaviour? The one who should get in trouble was the teacher, not me. And so I went ahead, without any doubt in my mind that this was the right thing to do and knowing that I was telling the truth.

To put your mind at ease I'd say that my cousin was quite allright. She wasn't hurt or anything and I don't think anyone made a stink about the situation because it wasn't that severe. I know there were some kind of consequences for the teacher, sure, but I don't think it was a major issue either.

But this is not why I'm sharing this. I'm sharing this because it saddens me to think that, as of today, I'd agree with my parents. Maybe I was imprudent. Maybe there was no need for me to go through that when there were adults involved that could have handled the situation without even mentioning my name. If I had a teenage kid I sure as hell wouldn't want them to be in a position where they had to fight about a teacher's improper behaviour and I absolutely know that I wouldn't be contained at home knowing that my kid was at the headmasters office going through who knows what. It seems silly to me, as there was really no downfall for me. The news didn't even spread through the school (and it was quite a small school, where everybody knew everybody). The only thing that changed that day was my aunt's attitude towards me. She was deeply grateful and even today, several years later, she seems to be nicer to me than to other family members. 

You see, all these people (my parents, my aunt, the headmaster) told me that I'd been very brave. I don't consider that doing what's right is being brave. I didn't then and I don't now, even when I've realized that it is, because often times the right path to follow is also the hardest one. 

In the depths of my depression I missed this younger version of me. The brave version. I don't think I became a coward as I still was known to do what was right but I also wasn't that person that could do absolutely whatever with zero hesitation just because it was right. I thought my depression took it away from me. Then I thought the world had taken it. Then I realized neither of these things were true: I just had lost my perspective, that's all. A little example would be how after my first week in a restaurant I called the owner and told him I'd not be working there anymore because his employees reused some things without washing them and I wouldn't be taking part in poisoning the customers. I was totally honest because I was resigning so I wasn't afraid of losing my job. Instead he thanked me for my honesty and I kind of got promoted. I worked there for another six months until I left in very good terms. 

My mother has always been proud of my ballsiness. Not so much of my stubbornness. I consider them two sides of the same coin. Depending on whether if benefits you or not you'll see it in a better light (doing what's right) or a worse one (being stubborn or unmanageable). 

I recently wrote about a difficult situation for me. One that forces me to make a decision where I'd be giving up something that is important and dear to me. No matter what I choose, the outcome will be the same. I have three choices and all three of them makes me give up at least two of these things. The real fun part about it is that some days ago my teacher tried to convince me to lean towards one of these options and instead he reinforced what I already knew: there's one right choice. Some may say that it's not that easy as it's a personal choice so we should be thinking in terms of what's best for me or about what I prefer but I digress. You see, one of the many advantages of being on the autism spectrum is that I can see clear as day what's right and what's not right. Not necessarily wrong, as I've learnt along the way that not everything is black and white but I'm absolutely certain that there's always a right choice. Or at least a righter choice. 

It turns out that after a month absolutely ridden with anxiety I have come to the realization that I already knew what my choice was. I knew what was right, or at least right for me, if you will. My suffering didn't come from having to choose but rather from knowing that what I'd chosen was the one situation that will be hardest for me. Now everything that's left is for me to do the right thing and receive a pat on my head telling me how absolutely brave I am.

I do like this bravery topic as it somewhat has driven my life with both good and bad outcomes. I could write more about it. Maybe I'll do.

Anyways, about my diet: this week I gained 0,6kgs. I'm not as happy as last week with this weight gain but I'm not surprised (I'd have to be completely dissociated from reality to be surprised by this). I don't know if I've eaten worse than last week. I don't think so but I do know that I've been eating more than I should. That mixed with some snacking (less than last week thankfully) and I imagine the prior weeks finally catching up with me have led me to continue gaining weight. It's time to put on my teenager pants, be brave and do again what's right for me and my health.

As always, thanks for reading.