Dizzy (The perpetual state of being dyslexics)

Chapter 1 Shock

Shock, fear, despair. All at once I was knocked down, into a place darker than night. A place I feared I would spend a lifetime fighting to come out of.

I remember shaking with the thought that someone I truly trusted labeled me as an abnormal human being. In truth, I felt less than human.

I remember.

It was the day I found my father's letter, with his description of me: "my handicapped daughter." From that day on I sensed a heaviness in my chest. A fear that sank down into my stomach, and ate me from the inside out. Recurring episodes of despair and anxiety haunted me throughout my childhood.

As I looked at the word "handicapped," I realized that the only hope of leaving this land of darkness was to take my little steadfast spirit and fight. Motivation and determination, which must have been bolted into me by some higher force, enabled me to survive a long arduous path that at times seemed to have no end, no rainbow, and no hope. Through some form of inner empowerment, I was able to surmount the obstacles that my condition brought on and embrace myself as a strong, intelligent individual. I learned that labels don't have power. I want to spread hope through my story. So I sit trying to remember, attempting to articulate it, and struggling with past pain.

I hope it will help.

Eighteen years later I found my gift.

All my life I had been looking for some kind of role model to help me get over the emotional turmoil that dyslexia has brought into my life, but no such luck. By the time I was twenty-seven I had pretty much given up. My only role models were superstars like Cher, Tom Cruise, and Whoopi Goldberg who had openly discussed their learning difficulties and the kind of struggles they were confronted with. Because of their perseverance, they have become renowned singers, actors, and artists that we know today.

I am a professional dancer, choreographer, and teacher. Dance is my life force. It feeds me like nothing else in this world. When I am dancing I feel complete... totally whole. Time stops. Every moment is magnificent.

By the time I was twenty-seven I was out of the closet about my condition. I told my bosses that I was dyslexic; I informed teachers, directors, and choreographers as well. I never wanted to be viewed as lazy or not trying just because I wasn't so quick to catch on. I was fired once when I was in my second year of college. I had taken a part-time job working for a real estate agency. That was one hell of a mistake. My job was to give clients tours of ultra-modern houses and point out how much more it would cost to have additions put on. I had no idea how to pronounce those very large numbers. After one thousand everything went blank inside my mind. I was unable to distinguish fifteen-thousand from fifteen-hundred. And in the world of real estate, I very quickly learned that distinguishing between numbers was a big deal.

Only a few weeks after I started, the manager called me up and told me that things "weren't working out." I was to be "let go," as she so tactfully put it. I could tell she felt bad, but at the time I was very angry at her for not taking the time to help me out and teach me as other bosses had done in the past. I realized that not every manager or boss has the time to teach me or the empathy to understand me.

I searched everywhere for inspiration and role models. I sought autobiographies as well as biographies. But there are few personal accounts of dyslexia. Very few people write about their life as a dyslexic and how they battled their condition. Someone once told me that the reason for the lack of information out there is because dyslexics can't write. So how could they possibly write a book about their life as a dyslexic? I was heartbroken.

No one could really explain what dyslexia was. I asked everyone from teachers to educational psychologists, and even a brain doctor once whether they knew anything about dyslexia. They seemed to be in the dark about the subject. They could tell me the effects dyslexia had on students, such as reversing letters or seeing letters backward. But they could not describe how or why this occurred. Even special ed teachers lacked a complete and comprehensive understanding as to why some children were labeled dyslexic and others were not.

Throughout my life, I have had plenty of odd jobs (as most dancers do). It is pretty hard to make it on a dancer's salary, no matter how good you are. When I was 27 years old, I worked as an administrative associate for an insurance company. One late afternoon, I was helping a client and found out that he was an elementary school teacher. As usual, I couldn't resist and asked him what he knew about dyslexia. "Not much," was his response. Which was exactly what I expected. But he finished with something that came as a complete shock. "but I heard that there's a pretty good book that just came out called "The Gift of Dyslexia," by Ronald Davis. My reaction was shock and disbelief. I immediately called the nearest book store, but they didn't have it. They gladly offered to order it for me. That wasn't good enough. Being the impulsive type, I picked up the phone, and called the nearest library and asked for the book. It was a miracle! The book had just been released and was going on the shelf that day.

I counted the minutes to 5 P.M. and drove like mad to the library. I didn't even have a library card! But that was all about to change in moments. The book, for some strange reason, was stocked in the sociology section. Why? ..maybe librarians think dyslexics are some strange subculture?

I remembered the feeling I had when I first saw the book. It gave me an immediate sense of belonging and relief. The book itself was nice and short, only 213 pages. As I turned the pages I realized it had been written dyslexia-friendly, which means that the type size was a little larger than normal. The cover was beautiful. It had the word "gift" in clay, three dimensional, which is really the way dyslexics think.

Finally, after 27 years of searching, I no longer had to live in darkness nor be alone in my world without words. Someone else could explain my unique condition. For the first time in my life, someone else could not only identify but explain why my cognitive processes were different from others. Not only could this author identify with my pain and suffering, but he could also explain why it occurred. He expressed it all in a style that made perfect and beautiful sense. I stood in the check out line as tears rolled down my face. I stood with an overwhelming sense of joy.