"Jane, wake up! Don't make me come upstairs again or you're in trouble. The bus won't wait for you & neither can I!"
"I'm up, Mom, I'm up!"
As you can see, I am not up. I hate waking up & not for the reasons you might think; at least not for the reasons most people do. I don't care to sleep longer. I don't have dreams. There's nothing enticing to me about being in pajamas. I don't want to wake up because it's just… too loud. There's too much noise, everywhere.
Before you get excited, I'm not psychic, I can't hear voices, & no special powers are trying to reveal themselves. It just feels like noise. Don't worry, it'll make sense, we have time. Be quick now though or you'll miss me finally lumbering down the stairs.
There I go.
I guess this is where I would describe myself, huh? My hair or my eyes, my skin tone and my body type — any details to help you better get to know me. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that's just not going to happen. To be fair, I couldn't if I tried. I can't be objective with myself long enough to give you an accurate description. I would either present some monstrous, self-deprecating depiction or — inversely — craft a wildly generous image of what is an otherwise hideous appearance... wait, I still did it, didn't I? Oh well. "Why can't you just tell me your attributes plainly?" you might wonder to yourself, to which I would reply, "what does it matter?" Would you relate to me more if I had your hair color? Or your skin tone? If the answer is yes, for whatever reason, then that's how you should picture me. This story will only make a difference if you don’t just understand, but empathize; if you put yourself firmly in my skin — in my soul.