My Biggest Secret: I'm Dyslexic

Even though it was *coughs* twenty-six years ago when I first heard the word "dyslexia," it still rings in my ears as though it were just yesterday. I felt really scared, like I didn't belong and that this must be some kind of disease that would eventually kill me. Yes, the mind of a six year old can be quite dramatic. Particularly when people just tell you what you have, but not what it is.

Let's look at exactly what it is:

"Developmental dyslexia is a condition or learning disability which causes difficulty with reading and writing.

Its standard definition is a difficulty in reading and writing in spite of normal or above-average intelligence and cognitive abilities.

The word "dyslexia" comes from the Greek words äõò- dys- ("impaired") and ëÝîéò lexis ("word"). People are often identified as dyslexic or dyslectic when their reading or writing problems cannot be explained by a lack of intellectual ability, inadequate instruction, or sensory problems such as poor eyesight.

The term dyslexia is also sometimes used to refer to the loss of reading ability following brain damage. This form of dyslexia is more often referred to as either acquired dyslexia or "Alexia". Dyslexia primarily impacts reading and writing abilities; however, other difficulties have been reported including deficits in processing spoken language[1] as well as non-language difficulties.[2]

Despite popular belief, dyslexia is not caused by reversing the order of letters in reading, nor is it a visual perception deficit that involves reading letters or words backwards or upside down.

Evidence that dyslexia is a neurological or brain-based condition is substantial. Research also suggests an association with biochemical and genetic markers.[3][4][5] Some question whether the term dyslexia is so fraught with popular misconceptions that it should be dropped altogether and replaced with the term Reading Disorder or Reading Disability (RD). Because difficulty in "breaking the code" of sound-letter association (reading acquisition) can be seen as being on a continuum, some believe the term dyslexia should be reserved for the most severely affected with RD, the bottom two to five percent. Moreover, dyslexia is not always the culprit in a child's not learning to read. Poor teaching methods can leave non-dyslexic children with poor reading skills." -- wikipedia.com

Throughout the years, I under-went testing over and over again as these educators, doctors, administrators and therapists tried proving this theory wrong. Needless to say, I passed with flying colors . . . not in the sense that you think, though. These tests proved I really was dyslexic and, because people didn't really know that much about it where I'm from in the early 80's, I was somewhat an enigma to all of them. They didn't know what to do with me. Especially when all my work that was turned in was 100% correct, but written 100% backwards. They failed me because, to them, it was incorrect . . . even though it was correct. I waged on, though, and managed to eak my way from grade to grade.

The kids had a field day with me. As a result, I became a shadow with few friends and didn't want any attention on me at all. I was painfully shy and, eventually, became developing agoraphobic tendencies (this stuck with me until my mid-twenties). I crawled deep inside myself and there weren't many people that noticed if I was there or if I was gone.

Even though I had this hurdle to constantly jump throughout every thoughtful moment of my life, I knew what I wanted to do for work. I knew I wanted to be an artist and a writer. Sure, my writing was wrong . . . but I loved words. I loved writing them, reading (with great difficulty) and hearing them. Understanding them, using them, developing techniques to cope with them, organizing them in my head, translating them . . . all of this brought my fondness and appreciation for words to a level few could understand.

When I was in my senior year of high school, I experienced a lot of health issues that took me out of school and into a one on one teaching situation with a tutor for half the school year. It was so fulfilling and gratifying . . . and addictive. I loved this method of learning. I was grasping things. I was remembering things. I no longer felt like the biggest idiot in the world. My grades went up and I felt a kind of confidence that was foreign to me. I didn't know what to do with this except move forward and use it as a jumping point for the rest of the moves I would make to piece together what I would do for a living.

In the final weeks of my senior year (I had returned to school three or four months prior), I was having a conversation with my English teacher. He was an impossible man to get along with, but I still looked up to him and admired how good of a teacher he was. He asked me what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, for work specifically. I told him I wanted to be a writer. He laughed a hearty laugh (turned his face red and everything) and said, while wiping away the tears, "you'll never be a writer."

My world shook. This man, the one I thought knew everything about being a writer and what it takes to achieve this goal, rocked me to the core. I was in a fog for a long time after that. Back were the days of feeling stupid, like I didn't belong and like t his would be something that would eventually kill me. I had to stuff it down deep. I knew I wouldn't die as a person, but my spirit certainly did.

There was one other situation when I was a manager of a music store and my superiors found out I was dyslexic through casual conversation. I didn't realize I had made a mistake revealing this truth until I heard the words, "I have a dyslexic manager running one of my stores. What was I thinking?" It made me feel like they lost all faith in my abilities, despite having worked hard up the ranks and earning that promotion. I was nineteen at this point.

Then, I had to break free from those words. Free from the stigma this puts on people. I had to prove him wrong, and everyone else who "dunced" me in the past, for that matter. I had to show them that, despite having this label, I was going to do what I wanted to do with my life and I was going to be successful. Six years after I graduated from high school, I launched my career and dyslexia has never been mentioned until recently. I never told a soul and, not once did anyone ever detect this issue or doubt my capabilities compared to this or that guy next to me.

To this day, I still keep this a secret. To this day, I still encounter more people who "think" they know what it's all about and what I go through, but they really have absolutely no clue. I don't let any of this get in my way, though.