I wasn’t always the partially well-adjusted middle-aged adult I am today. It’s been a long path with plenty of things to feel embarrassed about from my youth. And I wouldn’t feel complete as a person if I couldn’t carry guilt and shame about things I can’t change, or besmirch pieces of myself that fundamentally can’t be altered.
The latter has been a focus of my life. I’m disabled. I have some learning stuff and some mental health stuff that makes things complicated. I don’t hear or see well, but it’s sometimes a good thing to not hear what others say, and I see the beauty in things well enough.
I felt so much shame about it through my younger life that I couldn’t admit that I was illiterate even to myself.
I was mostly illiterate through college and well into my twenties. I felt so much shame about it through my younger life that I couldn’t admit that I was illiterate even to myself. I’m not alone in that sentiment. Some of the most outrageously behaved kids I’ve met created all kinds of distracting behavior to draw the focus away from the possibility of not reading well…having others witness what is internalized a moral flaw. I learned to read when I learned to teach it. Illiteracy doesn’t look how people assume it does. Illiterate older teens and adults can usually read some…enough to cover it up and trick people into believing they are more capable than they are.
I’m proud of who I am. To have a different path would yield a different me.
It’s taken some time for me to see the skill that goes into navigating the world in secret…to “prove” to others that there isn’t some kind of personal defect…that I don’t have some kind of personal defect. I can’t say for sure if that is a delusion on my part. I just know that I tested into remedial classes as a child, but my humiliation wouldn’t allow me to stay there. I had tutors every day so that I could be a “regular” student. I’m middle-aged now, and all of that heaviness was so unnecessary. But at the same time, I’m proud of who I am. To have a different path would yield a different me.
I learned the hard way that my symptoms freak people the fuck out.
I also have a psychotic disorder with a mood component that I don’t totally conceal, but I also don’t discuss in any great detail. I learned the hard way that my symptoms freak people the fuck out. I have auditory hallucinations. People can vaguely accept that and move on. Hearing that while I’m in a conversation with someone that one of my two main companions is telling me I need to kill them before they kill me is…unsettling for them. So, I don’t mention it, but I experience it all the same.
I have trouble distinguishing between what is real and what isn’t. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. What’s real is dull to me…lifeless…uninteresting. The creations in my mind are colorful and vibrant. I long to focus on those things, but I know that doing so would make my world more granular. I’d lose touch with everyone and everything around me, and I don’t know that I could pull back from that. And on that path I probably wouldn’t want to.
When the rare person like me creates a mass murder, I wear that as I see endless commentary that someone like me should be tagged in some way.
I’ve been in meetings with mental health professionals and I would hear the fear in their voices because of a kid just like me. When the rare person like me creates a mass murder, I wear that as I see endless commentary that someone like me should be tagged in some way. It’s such an odd thing because I’ve met so many disgusting people in my life. If they managed to live on to be a twat waddle to someone else, it’s safe to say that there is nothing inherent in my thought disorder that makes me particularly dangerous.
People like me are hidden. While a diagnosis like schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder aren’t all that prevalent, there are more of us than people realize. Many of us function, but there is so much stigma that we don’t seek help if we don’t need it. Things might be hard with all of the symptoms, but it’s better than being identified and alienated because of our experiences. When I originally sought help in my late teens, it was for depression…the mania was there, but I loved it so. I still do. Mania feels wonderful…until it doesn’t. And there is this constant illusion of control.
My sense of empathy is different, meaning I don’t really have it. At least, I don’t have it a way that would make people feel more comfortable around me.
But when I had my psychotic break in my mid-ish-twenties…my concept of time isn’t great, I lost so much. I was never particularly fantastic with people on more than a superficial level, so when the brunt of my illness fully took hold, I had to relearn everything…or I had to learn it for the first time. My sense of empathy is different, meaning I don’t really have it. At least, I don’t have it a way that would make people feel more comfortable around me. At the time, I think people would see someone who would do or say insensitive things, but not really getting that the comments weren’t great. For the longest time I didn’t understand why people didn’t want to be around me. I was lonely, but also selfish.
I don’t really get what’s happening around me. But I’ve been dealing with this beast for decades now, so I get patterns of behavior…people are very predictable. It makes me eerily skilled at reading people and situations because I’ve seen so many patterns before. On the odd time when I haven’t, though, it’s terrifying. I absolutely can’t compute what I’m seeing.
Circle back to my language-based learning disability, my struggle to process words at times isn’t helpful. I will randomly swap out words in conversation that will totally change the meaning of what’s being said, or make exactly zero sense. I get lost in conversations, but people don’t usually notice. One, because I’m good at faking it at this point in my life. Two, people usually just like to listen to themselves talk, so they don’t know or care that I’m not following along. After the fact, all of this becomes funny stories…most of the time.
I’m neurodivergent. I fundamentally see the world in a different way, and that’s an asset.
It’s common that I don’t understand things. I used to feel such shame about that, but I’ve learned to lean into it these days. Whereas most people will process people jumping from one idea to the next by filling in holes in the content, I cannot. A hole in what is supposed to be a linear idea will completely throw me. I have the capacity to understand things. If I can’t follow what someone is saying, they aren’t being clear…They just think they are. Leaning into that means I can develop all kinds of programming and program content exceptionally well because in order to process things appropriately I need to go through things step by step without making leaps that don’t connect. In sum, my work tends to not have many holes. The things I produce are usually successful when others have found a task impossible. I’m neurodivergent. I fundamentally see the world in a different way, and that’s an asset.
After all, when we meet the needs of someone disabled, everyone else usually benefits.
Disability is such a dirty word to people, but is it the disability or the world that is hostile and uncompromising? After all, when we meet the needs of someone disabled, everyone else usually benefits. How often has a ramp proved useful? Is it the wheelchair that’s the problem, or do we have a physical plant that makes it difficult to navigate using one?
Autistic people have needed more flexible work situations for the longest time…flexibility like working remotely. Until Covid hit, something like that was ludicrous, but look at where we are now as a society. How many of us are better employees because we can work from home? Certainly, our world’s worker bees work more with the capability. And how many of us enjoy a voice to text function, or captions online when we can’t be bothered to listen…or perhaps trying to hide evidence of our interests?
Disability is an asset to progress if we can only get out of our own way as a civilization.
(Image description: blue sky with clouds. An unsmiling little girl with a blue mask and blue shirt, wearing a red cape that's off center on her shoulders. Her arm is extended into a fist from the right of center of the image, reaching out to the left corner. Image credit: Igor Yaruta)
