Day to Day

Dyslexia Reportia

So I decided several years ago it was time to be assessed for dyslexia. There was just too many coincidences between how I operated and the experience shared by those who were reported to have the condition. I had entirely forgotten the whole experience until last week I stumbled upon my notes about the experience and the details as to why I originally wanted explore the possibility of having the condition.

My notes at the time:

  • A history of poor spelling, since Primary School through to Masters. Being at the very bottom of my class in Primary, I recall frequently getting 3 out of 20 on spelling tests.
  • Spelling is phonetic, relying on spell check for essays (sometimes changing words or restructuring whole sentences when no correct spelling could be found).
  • Reading is slower than that of peers, with seemingly less comprehension.
  • Reading on the computer is aided by tracing and highlighting lines with the mouse pointer.
  • Written sentences become string along with little use of full stops. In Honours I would frequently write 10 line paragraphs as a single comma broken sentence.
  • No joy or desire to read. Reading is tiring.
  • Skipping to same line frequently.
  • Late speech development (age of 4).
  • Memory poor on unessential facts (order of the months of the year, places, names).
  • Placing letters in scrabble out of order.
  • Using math tricks to find multiplication conclusions instead of memory.
  • Two thirds of art school students in the uk are estimated to have dyslexia.
  • Excelling at spacial and mechanical reasoning

The clinic’s conclusions:
The results of the test concluded that I was in fact normal (state average) at reading and writing and my academic record (pretty much perfect top marks) was obvious proof that got by just fine. At spacial and mechanical reasoning I achieved a perfect score. It was suggested that I was simply being hard on myself, comparing my normal level traits with my vastly above average traits while also comparing myself to academics of a superior age, who are of course expected to be at a higher level. It was good that I was in a area of study which valued my strengths in spacial and mechanical reasoning and that perhaps I could make more friends my own age if I wanted to feel more confident.

My conclusions (then):
I remember it being suggested by a friend that my difficulties spawned from learning to read phonetically at a Primary School which was somewhat aligned with Steiner disciplines. “it’s outrageous how they have failed you, letting your spelling remain so poor” she once said. But after the testing the conclusions I came to was that I had brain of someone who, in many circumstances, would have very much been diagnosed with dyslexia. I discovered that the way in which my School taught English at the time is how it is now recommended that kids diagnosed with dyslexia are to be taught, then they get by just fine, just as I do. It wasn’t my downfall but my saving grace and the reason I passed the test with no obvious signs of dyslexia.

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My conclusions (now):
*There was a whole bunch of misguided nonsense here from 2014 about alternative health, leaky guts, gluten and food intolerance. These ramblings were simply too embarrassing to leave and I have opted to delete them it in light of 2017’s ADHD & dysthymia diagnoses. Food did affect my mind and this played a large role in forming my perceptions at the time, but I now have a greater access to the understanding of certain complexities that simply could not have accounted for at the time. The tangent that follows made more sense before this flagrant censorship but now it can just be a fun game where you can try imagine how we all ended up here.

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Usually long term memories feel like vague memories of photographs, or memories of remembering memories from memories. An ever fading cascade of the degradation of both fact and feeling. A glimpse or snapshot that allows for some facts and the analytic but not so much the emotion and feeling of an event to transpose through the ether. Retrieving the visceral taste and texture of a lived experience was never a possibility until this point.

Then I realised something hugely important in the narrative of my existence. I have always been known as a very dry, restrained, unemotional sort of a person. Never getting excited about art or people or anything really and I never truly knew love. It felt more of a mass delusion than something real. I had plenty of girlfriends, and liked the majority of them very much but when they told me they loved me I could either respond with the truth or the more gentle approach, which was to lie.

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That is, until it happened. I found a creature with whom I felt the deepest of admiration. Who’s darkness was light and who’s flaws oozed sweetest perfection. Never before had I felt such excitement over the sight and sense of a person. At last I had encountered an entity for whom the production of compliments wasn’t a task but a desperately relentless pleasure. The girl flew away, I drank lots of beer and soon enough I was yet again incapable of love. It was a beautiful tragedy and I soon came to appreciate the absurdity of a life which allows such magnitudes of sorrow to exist.

I feel as though the girl absurd was a trigger for the chemical/hormonal process involved in love that I simply would not have been able to process if I were in a previous or future cognitive state. I also believe that without the use of an emotionally capable memory the presence of another being will simply not be able to spark deep and true emotions from within ones own psyche. A person for whom excites you does so not because of who they are but because they trigger a learned response with in you, which can only flourish when the memory of their divine beauty shines clearly. I look forward to falling head over heals again and maybe even being able to cry over the beauty of an artwork once my issues are further addressed.

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