This Boy Is Me

This Boy Is Me

The boy stands next to his primary school teacher, holding her hand as he watches the other boys and girls throw a ball through a hula-hoop for sports day.

The boy sits at his desk trying to read the squiggles he has written on a piece of paper, but blames himself as he cannot make out the letters.

The boy gets pushed over by the other students in the corridor. They take his bag, shoes and laugh as his pencil case and books drop out.  

The boy falls off his bike, scraping his knee on the pavement. He cries and runs into the house and says he will never ride again.

The boy screams. He shoves books off the shelf and smashes glasses onto the floor. He stops. In the mirror he sees a boy trembling.

This boy is me.


I paused many times whilst writing the sentences above, because those memories are all real and they all hurt.

‘Dyspraxia Awareness Week’ comes around once a year, and each time I make sure to spend five minutes of every day reflecting upon my experiences of living with Dyspraxia.

I reflect that it is okay for our brains to process information differently, that it may take us longer but we do get there in the end and actually go beyond expectation. After all, we are all unique and have a story to tell.

It is also fine to be scared, frustrated or angry sometimes. We should not shy away from who we are because a few judgemental people try to insult us. They only do this because they are jealous and have not realised who they are as individuals. Remember our voices can inspire others to share theirs.

I am reminded there are incredible people out there, many of whom I would not be here today without. I am thankful for my family, friends, the staff at school and university, and the Dyspraxia community who prove we can be fantastic in spite of having Dyspraxia.

Finally, I should never forget how far I have come and where I am going next. So, in the future if I ever feel anxious, angry or hopeless I should tell myself the following:


The boy runs with the ball and kicks it in the top corner of the goal. He swims across the water and does ten laps of the pool. He goes outside again, grabs the bike by the handles and rides off into the distance.

The boy holds up the piece of paper and reads the sentence, ‘Always believe in yourself.’ He then starts to produce stories and poems that will last forever.  

The boy shakes hands with the governor who presents the boy with the certificate stating he has graduated with First-class honours in English Literature and Creative Writing from University of Hertfordshire.

The boy high-fives his friends and hugs members of his family; and joins in games of poker and bowling, goes to the cinema, travels to snow-capped mountains and deep oceans.

The boy places the knocked over books back onto the shelf and mends the broken glasses. In the mirror he sees himself, smiling.

This boy is me.

This boy is me...Copyright © 2016- Jake Borrett and Paul Kielty. All rights reserved.  

Fading Away In Seven Days

Fading Away In Seven Days
(After Tom Warner)

We walk in silence, just the two of us.
Seven Days gone then there’ll be only one.
Together our hands touch, keeping ourselves warm,
From the frozen wind that will never stop.        

We walk in silence, just the two of us.
Up the hill we go, leaving behind the city below.
Together on this withering journey, soon to be apart.
Still we’ll have our memories that will never fade.

We walk in silence, just the two of us.
Looking up into the sky, we see a little creature fly.
It’s a green butterfly swirling and twirling in the air,
Soon to be joined in its dance that will never end.

We stop in silence, just the two of us.
Looking at her burning tears, hiding both our fears,
My little girl is still unaware of what Seven Days means.
But I know that our love for one another will never die.

But I know that our love for one another will never die...Copyright © 2012- WallpaperFolder. All rights reserved.  

Thoughts From Inside The Ambulance

Warning: This blog post contains strong language

Thoughts From Inside The Ambulance

I have been inside an ambulance only once. This was in 2007 before I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease.

I awoke in the middle of the night with excruciating abdominal pain, screaming as if someone had stabbed me. No one had stabbed me but instead my small intestine was attacking twelve-year-old me. My mum dialled an ambulance and they arrived what seemed like hours later.

I chose to describe this night in my GCSE English Language examination; the question asked to ‘Describe a day from your childhood’, but looking back on it nine years later can be challenging. Having said this I still remember a couple of thoughts from that night as I was driven to hospital, including:
          Is this the gas and air they give pregnant women in hospital?
          This is what it must feel to be drunk.
          Why is it taking so long to get to hospital?
          Fuck. I’m dying.

I also recall thinking that I was lucky to have my mum. She sat next to me in the ambulance holding my hand. I cannot pretend to know what she was thinking. All I know is that I am grateful for having a wonderful mum. I am thankful for all the times she stayed in hospital with me; for when she calmed me down during my emotional outbursts; for the hugs and smiles; and for believing me when I said I was in pain. Thank you for being there for me. 

Thank you for being there for me...Copyright © 2012- geralt. All rights reserved.

Summer 2016 Snapshot of Inflammatory Bowel Disease and Dyspraxia

Summer 2016 Snapshot of Inflammatory Bowel Disease and Dyspraxia

I hope you all are having a wonderful summer. Over the last couple of months I have been fortunate to have had work experience at The Independent, John Murray Press and Radio Verulam. The people I met were lovely and all three placements gave me the chance to raise awareness of Crohn’s Disease, Ulcerative Colitis and Dyspraxia.

This explains why the writing blog has been rather quiet. So, over the upcoming months I hope to publish more content including short stories, poetry and screenplays, but primarily to write more articles exploring the diverse aspects of living with invisible disabilities. In this post I will explore what possible areas to write about.

Inflammatory Bowel Disease
In terms of Inflammatory Bowel Disease, together we have explored colonoscopies; how to deliver a diagnosis; diet; and the larger community.
Some further areas to cover in the near future are:
          The impact on education, work and social life
          Having surgery and its possible implications
          The seriousness of fatigue
          The Modulen Diet and other forms of medication
          A letter written to my Crohn’s Disease

In terms of Dyspraxia we have reflected upon educational psychologist tests; how reading and writing can be impacted; the positives of Dyspraxia; and the larger community.
Some further areas to cover are as follows:
          The impact on education, work and social life
          A letter written to my Dyspraxia
          Anxiety and Depression
          Planning, memory and organisation
          Dyspraxia in the media

Please do share your own suggestions in the comments below or on the Facebook page. Your continued support means a great deal to me so thank you.

Keeping on the subject of Dyspraxia, the Dyspraxia Foundation have launched an urgent campaign to raise funds to ensure their services can continue until they are able to secure long term sustainable funding. They are an amazing charity offering support to thousands of people diagnosed with the specific learning condition and their loved ones. For further details about their campaign please explore their website and their fundraising page at

For now, thank you very much for being there for me. I hope you have a good summer.

Copyright © 2016- Jake Borrett. All rights reserved.

Earliest Memory

Earliest Memory

“What’s your earliest memory?”

I was five years old. I was playing in a field covered in violets with my brother. We twirled and danced in the breeze. The sky was crimson, like a fire had sparked in the heavens. The soft buds made my fingers itch as I stroked them, but I didn’t mind. My brother was smiling and that mattered most.
We were in too much of a trance with nature to notice something watching us from the horizon.
The night fell and the sky turned to blood. Still we played among the violets. I spun in one complete circle and when I stopped I noticed my brother. His smile had gone. There were no tears though. He was just watching a shadow in the distance. He shivered for the last time.

“What’s your earliest memory?”
I kept silent.

My brother was smiling and that mattered most...Copyright © 2012- Bessi. All rights reserved.