Imagine having something wrong with your arms. They’re too short for you to function properly. Imagine living life with such short arms, never being able to reach the things you always wanted, not quite getting to the places you know you could, if only your arms were as long as everyone else’s. Now, imagine how people would respond to you. When you’re attempting to do something beyond your capabilities, do they scoff and say “just reach harder and you’ll get it”? Or do they make allowances for you? Help you? Imagine, now, living with a disorder that affected both your brain and your speech. Your difference is now mostly mental. When people notice you behaving in a disorderly way, do they get angry and shout that you should change the way you do things, the way you look at things, be better than you’ve already tried to be, or do they accept you? After all, there’s clearly something “wrong” with you.
Now imagine having no noticeable signs of any difference, but that everything you did and felt was exaggerated. Emotions are felt more wildly, exciting thoughts race faster, and you move quicker than anyone else. Imagine also behaving completely erratically at some times and normal at others, and imagine that your mind instinctively moves onto every new impulse it takes in. But imagine that, because all of your behaviour is just an exaggeration of normal behaviour, nobody acknowledges your difference.
Imagine the fear of living like this, responding so intensely to everything, always one impulsive step away from catastrophe, never sure when you’ll be ok and when you’ll be a handful… but always sure that nobody will ever realise that there’s a reason you’ve setting the toast on fire for the fourth time in a week, arriving two hours late for a wedding or stepping into busy traffic.
I am an intelligent, charming young man, and people just don’t understand why I behave so ridiculously.
~
Let’s talk about something nicer now though. My life. I went for an interview at Loughborough recently. I didn’t plan, didn’t revise for any questions I may have been asked, and completely messed the whole thing up. And it cost me over £40, which was a pain. Afterwards I went to a café and began to write. The entry is still on one of my handwritten journals, it’s the first thing I’d written, for my personal pleasure, in a-g-e-s, and marked the beginning of this year’s journal (while my trip to Norwich marked the beginning of 2008’s poetry). Anyway, I’m sitting in this café and I’m dressed exactly how I always wanted to dress: in posh but comfy shoes, with a fashionably cool shirt, awesomely sweet jeans and a completely complimenting belt, and I realise, this is where I always wanted to be. What I wanted to be doing. I remembered how much I love travelling and looking good. But there was more than that, because I was becoming the man I envisioned myself becoming by the time I was 21. This comes as a dawning realisation to me now, as I piece my memories together and realise how happy I am with myself! And it gets better. I still have downfalls, but my room is gorgeous and perfectly compliments me, my personality is fresh and unique, I am incredibly charming, and, dare I say it, people love me! I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been, for having the capacity to become what I am. At the same time, I’m infinitely proud of myself for always pushing myself to be the person I knew I could be.
The only thing holding me back is this damn disorder business. Everything else is amazing.
Tomorrow I go to Mum’s house to study for an essay I’m writing, then I gotta seriously revise some hardcore biology, DNA and stuff. It’s all so exciting!