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In junior high I was pulled out of several normal classes and put into L.D.<\/p>\nIn junior high I was pulled out of several normal classes and put into L.D.<\/p>\n
L.D. stood for “learning disability.” (Seriously, that’s what they called it!)<\/p>\n
I was not a permanent resident like some students, but it was enough of an embarrassment to add to the already constant bullying I received during those years.<\/p>\n
Somewhere along the way in L.D., a teacher finally said it: “You’re dyslexic.”<\/p>\n
I thought, “I can’t<\/em> be dyslexic — I read more than most people my age!”<\/p>\n I argued this point with my teacher.<\/p>\n In that conversation, I realized how much of an effort spelling well and even reading were for me. I could only spell because I filled that part of my brain with almost visual representations of words — the syntax of it all didn’t become apparent until I forced that into my brain, and even then, it was all still so hazy. Reading was a thing I did because that’s just what we did in my family. After enough effort, it became habit.<\/p>\n More than that, though, my teacher explained to me that some dyslexics learn read and write rather well — that dyslexia manifests in speech for many people.<\/p>\n To this day — if I’m talking to you, I will blank out while chatting or even look away as I search for what I want to say. I become self conscious of how unsettling it is for some people to talk with me. Talking on the fly does not come easy to me; in fact, unless I am very comfortable around you, I’m more likely to listen than talk.<\/p>\n I am an easy person to interrupt.<\/p>\n I am not very articulate or fast in my speech in real life. Despite my menacing stature, I am often left feeling tiny — silenced by those whose minds move quicker than mine (most people). When I do<\/em> speak, it’s often in torrents — in an effort to get a thought out without so much as a breath because I know my dyslexic pause is seen as a lull in the discussion and time for everyone else to rush in — even though I’ve not completed my thought. (And then I get frustrated and just shut up entirely.)<\/p>\n In the buzzing recesses of my brain, though, thoughts scream to get out — but the effort of the act and the speed of life (and its interruptions) often leave me feeling like I’m still in 7th or 8th grade, forced to walk down a hallway where people have complete control over everything I am.<\/p>\n So I turned toward writing to be heard…<\/p>\nWhen I Speak<\/h2>\n
Why I Write (Well, One Reason, At Least…)<\/h2>\n