So, in yesterday’s post, I was musing about growing up with hidden disabilities. Well, presumed because I haven’t been tested for them. And I mentioned in the last post that I was scolded for not paying attention to what I was doing as I was doing it (as a kid). I absorbed that I was clumsy, ungraceful, and a dolt. Even though I did several different physical things with dexterity (including ping-pong, tennis, volleyball, dancing (tap, jazz, ballet), playing the cello, just as a few examples), I still felt like a total clutz.
In talking with a friend about various neurospicy issues, she said that many people with neurodiversity issues feel that way (that there is something wrong with them). I knew that ,but it’s hard to personalize it. What I mean is that if someone else said that they felt that way, I would sympathize and bolster them as much as possible. I don’t think someone should feel bad about neurospicy.
But. And of course there’s a but. I didn’t feel that way about myself. In part because I did not know that I was neurodivergent. Or rather, I knew my brain didn’t think the way other brains thought. That was pretty obvious. When I was a kid, however, I just thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me. Oh, and my family. Not in the dysfunctionla sense, but because we were Taiwanese in a very lily-white area.
I felt like an alien. I had no idea how to act around other kids. It was partly the very isolating Taiwanese Christian family, but it was also just…I did not think the way other kids did. I didn’t care about what they cared about, so I spent most of my time lost in the worlds of books. That was my safe space, and I read almost every moment I wasn’t in school.
I read as I walked, too, which contributed to me thinking I was clumsy. But, see, I had to occupy my mind in order for it not to be flooded with bad thoughts. It kept the demons at bay, if only just. I was deeply unhappy as a kid and wanted to be dead. I just did not want to be alive. I had a mental breakdown when I was in college, but managed to fight my way through it. Not well, and it left me but a husk, but I scraped by. I garduated magna cum laude, but that was just because school was easy for me–and somewhat of a a safe space. Meaning, I liked learning. It was one way to keep my mind occupied. So that was almost cheating for me. School, I mean. I put in about a fourth of the effort of my classmates and managed to get mostly As, regardless.