Recently, I received an official diagnostic report stating that I had a learning disability & (inattentive) ADHD. Although I knew there was something wrong with me since I would slam my head upon failure, I never expected it to become tangible or actually be known. Though, in all honesty, I spent my undiagnosed childhood, imagining that I had a brand new, secret disorder-like issue within me, just so that I could name it along with the attention that I wanted from it. I’m assuming at least one person can relate to that experience, hopefully.
There’s an odd sense of “other”-ness that one gets from being an undiagnosed child; a less cruel version than as a teenager, and a less ignorant version than an adult would receive. In theory, the only time others accept disabilities is in significantly old age. Even then, you, in some way, still expect and trust your body to keep up with your mind, because it’s all you’ve known, right? I suppose in this case, you “disappoint” yourself: at least to others.
With these expectations, I suppose that I feel I am not “disabled-enough,” that I shouldn’t have supports in place of another’s. Despite this repeated sense, I truly don’t have very many supports; I have a supportive family, yes, but that’s only because of how many family members I have who are disabled as well. I have no IEP, and haven’t in the past.
But maybe this is more about my family than my actual disability. Or maybe it’s my school, or my friends who really mean well, but don’t always understand. Or maybe it’s my cousin, who hasn’t done anything, but is simply a symbol of the fact that I will be “less-disabled” than my male counterpart. To be frank, it’s hard to know if I, myself, even understand, given how new this confirmation is. The world around me and alongside me has always told me that I must lift up my skirt straps and expect to be treated less-than. It’s hard to gather that I am one of society’s unideal options, sub-ideal, so forth. I know, of course, that my personal worth is worth more than the money it produces, or the movement it supplies, or the math it completes, but in the world I am in, it definitely feels the part.
Regardless, despite the “everything” about it, I am glad for it. I am glad to be vindicated over something that I’ve known for god knows how long. I am glad for my steps, and I am glad for the forwards. I will continue to live as I have. It’s not entirely happy, and it’s certainly less-than-perfect, but it will do. For now.
txto