Sometimes I felt that being left behind was something like dying. Being without, being in a place without what I felt I needed. In the class room, there was the chance of being in a special project. Of doing a project with a few other children. And so my hand went up and almost at the same time I said, oh what's the point you wont choose me anyway. And of course that was the device to not be left out. To make the pain of being without so palpable that the teacher had no choice. And so I was included. Being special, being within the special spaces. These were the signs that I was not to die just yet. That the appearance of a self without, that pain, could be forestalled by articulating the pain of "going to die."