Oh, think twice, maybe thrice

I took some of those diagnose yourself psychology tests, and they all suggest a mild to moderate probability I have dyslexia. It would sure explain a lot of things. I guess dyslexia isn’t all not being able to spell or read. It’s a general language disability, which I never considered for myself because I’ve always loved reading, writing, and been a good speller.

But I do have a lot of problems organising my thoughts, verbally and on paper. It takes me a long time to write posts, even short ones. With longer posts I usually just give up because it gets too overwhelming. I have so many thoughts, and I wonder to myself, “Are these even all relevant to each other? I could write about some subtopics with an overarching theme. But this is just a blog post, not a paper. But I want to write about this. But this is requiring too much time and confusion and hating myself for being confused, so fuck it.” Side note: this post took me at least an hour and thirty minutes to write.

Verbally, well, you better prepare yourself to listen for a long time. I pause a lot when I’m speaking, because I can’t think of a word, or I forget what I was saying, or I get distracted by another thought, or I can’t figure out how to say what I’m thinking or feeling. I didn’t realise I did it until one of my friends pointed it out. She says she loves the pauses, that they’re one of the things that make me charming and adorable.

One of my bosses at my last job told me the pauses make me sound unintelligent. That was over a year ago, and I can’t get over it. I wish I could, but always in my back of my mind I’ve had this little voice, “You should be able to explain this better. People are looking at you crazy! Speed up! Slow down! Make a joke! Get back on track! Why did you make that dumb mistake on that test? You bother your classmates and or coworkers too much. Why can’t you pay attention? Why is this taking you so long?” I am intelligent, possibly more so than the person who said it to me, and nobody is more frustrated than me about the confusion in my brain.

Sometimes I have the stereotypical problem of getting letters backwards, like “b” and “d.” In fourth grade we were decorating paper tee shirts. I wrote my teacher’s name, Mr. Nolde on mine. After I read it, I realised it said Mr. Nolbe instead. I tried to fix it, but it looked even dumber. I remember thinking in my nine year old brain, “Oh fuck it!” especially after looking at my arch nemesis’s beautifully decorated paper tee shirt. It’s funny how things like that stay fresh for decades.

I also have ADHD, which is like having a perpetually wound windup toy in my brain. I have to move. I talk and sing to myself and to inanimate objects (to the point where it annoys people who are annoyed by that kind of thing) regardless of whoever is in earshot, fiddle with stuff (ballpoint click ink pens are the best), interrupt people, and blurt things out. The last guy I dated and I were watching a movie at my apartment and he said, “Can you please quit jiggling your leg?!” I said, “No, no, it’s a compulsion. If I stop I’ll go insane.” I’ll be looking somebody dead in the face and never hear anything they’re saying. It doesn’t matter if you sit me next to a window or not, I’ll find something to focus on other than the task at hand. I can hyperfocus on stuff I love like the symptom lists say, but I’m just as likely to space out.

I don’t have an upshot to impart for a conclusion, like “I will survive! I’ll get better at negotiating with this bullshit!” or “I just look at the world in a different way. This is a gift!” or even “Fuck all those losers for being judgmental and not giving me a chance!!!”  I just have song lyrics: It’s just another day for you, you and me in paradise.