Some ten years ago, I was describing to a therapist how my childhood was burdened by an inability to understand what people were saying; I could hear the words fine, they just sometimes didn't translate into meaning. She said "Are you dyslexic?"
I started to say, no, actually I learnt to read so early I can't remember doing it. Then I recalled that dyslexia is an umbrella term for a range of processing issues, and I realised that she could be right. Maybe it wasn't anything "wrong" with me; maybe it was just something different.
But I still thought of it as an oddity out of context, a symptom without a cause. It wasn't till a few months back, when I was telling another therapist (yes, I've had a lot of head-fixers in my life) about the communication issues in my relationship, that he said "You need to check, because I could be wrong, but I think you're Aspergers." So I started to look up tests, and try them. And here I am.
Some of my oldest and most painful memories are of people - parents, teachers, other children - asking "Why?" Why didn't I listen, why didn't I understand, why did I forget, why did I get it wrong? Finally, after most of my life, I can tell them all why. The relief is indescribable.
I'm still learning what it means, what I can do about it, and even more importantly, what I can't. But in the wise words of Ford Prefect, I don't have an answer, but I've got another name for the question.
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Foxibus
Oh better far to live and die under the brave black flag I fly,
Than play a sanctimonious part with a pirate head and a pirate heart.
25 Jan 2022, 2:34 pm
