Friday 6 September 2013

Just Give Me a Minute

I really wish I thought better of myself. It’s not that I don’t whisper sweet nothings to myself ever morning since I was 13. I’ve had to or I’d have ended up in little bits at the bottom of The Cliff.
Which for your information would have been a beautiful place to die. And not where most people chose to jump (we have about ten, being as the Blue Mountains is set up along an tourist wet dream it’s a beauty to drive up, it’s a beaut when you get out of the car.

Not the point.
I have pretty good thoughts on myself. But better, only my own thoughts can make me tremble.

I became this way—‘cause I wasn’t always like this. Before myself esteem was high and mighty. I even wanted to be an actor when I was 6. Loving to stand up in front of anyone and yell my heart out. To be honest, I can still do that, but I’m, like, up to my eyeballs in alcohol.

Anyway, around that said age I was diagnose with server learning disabilities.
Yeah, I’ve said this a lot, it’s the diagnose that, I think, made it easy for me to speak about it. since I’ve never been able to hide it. Not from anyone.

So I’m dumb.
Yeah, I know, that’s my own mouth saying it, ‘cause it’s been a long time since anyone actually thought of me that way (well, you could, but…) and even longer since I cared that you do.
But years, and I’m talking, since I was six I have had to struggle with the written word. And even though I have had friends and to be honest I can’t remember anyone ever teasing me about it. Maybe ‘cause I was so use to it. So open. It’s kinda hard to tease someone when there agreeing with you. 

Anyway, so I’ve had massive problems when it comes to words. I don’t ever remember getting a simple spelling test with more than 2 words right. More so I once remember getting treated like I was stupid by a teacher because one of the words on the test was written around the room—which I find really bad, since I shouldn’t he have thought about that for a moment, and seen that I might not have been able to read said word—but no, since I was 10 and him…old, he didn’t want to feel that maybe it was his own fault.

Okay, so I still have some resentment for my school days.

But you see, I loved school, if I make myself forget the whole work side of it. Which I think I’m doing well, if I don’t do things, like, you know, this.

But, you see, I’m okay now when the words are in my head (sorta, well, I’m getting better). When I’m writing it’s all dandy. I can even use big arsed words correctly, which would not have happened before. but speaking the words aloud is now my failure.

You see when I started school, and they started teaching us our vales, they said that I did them wrong, because, quite simply, I did them with an Irish accent (or way) which back then, because it wasn’t Aussie was wrong. (I’m not 100% sure it’s changed, but my children defiantly does what I did, and they haven’t said anything so…).
And because of that simple thing, they turned my already shitty brain and fucked it up some more.

You see, I have a mum from Belfast, and a dad from Yorkshire, you tell me how many words I actually say without a ring from their mouths? Because there aren’t many.
Especially since my vocabulary has expanded and I didn’t learn them through school, and there Aussie meter, unless my mums there who can put on her ‘Aussie accent’ (yeah, she has one, had to. But think about it, I had this much problems when I was at school, my parents immigrated over here when they were still in school, imagine what they had to go through…) and speak the word for me that way so that I know how its ‘meant’ to be so I ‘can get it right.’

The good thing is that I understand this fault, and I can get myself to hear the word is right the first way I say it. but I have to go through all the above for it to work.

Well, I hope that’s given you an insight into me. and, you know, hasn’t turned you off reading my books—they aren’t bad, really, other have had a hand fixing the hell out of them.

By the way, The Art of Words by RJ Scott & Meredith Russell, was the closest I have ever read to what it’s like be like this. However, even with that book I see more of my sister in there, along with myself.
You see, she’s smarter than me. And she can hide it. She’s been able to hide it for her whole life. But in both cases we get defensive when people push us against a wall, it’s normally when it come to a form.

Hell, you should have seen how happy I was when I was read 70% of my contract for eXtasybooks. I was so happy with myself that I could actually put everything together and send it off and that they could read it. That it all worked.
I’ve never been more proud of myself in my life. And it’s a good feeling.

Till next time…

End note: my sister is not like me. She’s had problem with reading, but that came from an inner ear infection she suffered through for years as a baby and wasn’t completely caught until she was 2 but unfortunately by them she’s missed learning all the first sounds you need for words.

No comments:

Post a Comment