I was diagnosed with severe dyslexia in second grade when I was the only one in my class who still couldn’t read. Since then, I’ve taken many, many classes to work through it, and I’m now proud to say that I’m pretty dang close to normal, but that doesn’t mean that it magically no longer affects me. It’s not like the problem can just disappear.

My reading speed is still half that of most of my friends, and it’s hard as hell to do sometimes. People always ask me why I hated reading as a kid, and the answer is simple: It was hard. I’ve now learned the glory that can be found in books, but that doesn’t mean it’s easier to do. Sometimes I just want to give up on trying because it’s taking so long and exhausts me and I’m never going to catch up to my friends and the rest of the world, so why they hell am I even trying? “Oh, you didn’t read Harry Potter when you were two days old? Why ever not?” Admittedly, that’s an exaggeration (they weren’t even out then), but you get my point. I didn’t read them because I couldn’t, and when I could it was way too hard, and no one ever read them to me, so I apologize for my ignorance. The books are long. It takes me a while to get freaking through them.

And I still suck at spelling. I long ago resigned myself to using songs and tricks to remember how to spell complicated words. I still have to stop and think “Wed-nes-day” and “Feb-ru-ary” to spell those, and don’t get my started on con-science, b-e-a-u-tiful, and p-u-r-p-l-e purple. I know that it’s I before E, except after C or when used as an “ay” as in neighbor and weigh, so that means that it’s field and not feild, although I’d swear to God it can’t be that simple. And how the hell do you spell soo-ven-eers? Souvenours? Souvenirs? Souvenaires? Customs can just figure it out nomonically! Pneumonically? Neumonically? Gnumonically? Ugh! And don’t even get me started on that place where you eat food. (Restaurant? Restaraunt? Hell, I’ll even try restaront.)

It’s sucks in foreign languages, too. I have a friend who can pick up languages like a hot guy with chicks, and I sometimes feel like punching her in the face. I mean, I can barely speak English, how the hell do you have, what, two, three that you’re fluent in? I feel like I’m swimming up stream, and the only way to avoid drowning is to work so hard that I burrow right under the river. I went to an intensive camp with my friend, and she couldn’t comprehend why I was having to work so hard.

Reading Shakespeare’s kind of like reading another language itself. And any form of poetry, ugh. Sometimes I have to read the same sentence twenty times before I actually start understanding it. At least normal words only take me five or ten reads at max. With all that other crap I’m seeing words I’ve never heard with spellings I’ve never seen, and I’d swear sometimes that poets design there stuff to create my own personal hell.

It even gets me when I talk sometimes, too. It’s like the words just won’t come to my mouth or won’t get past my lips. It’s worse when I’m tried, and I sound like I have a stutter or something. Too many times I’ll have to trail off in the middle of my sentence because it’s just not falling together.

I still remember that I once mentioned it to a good friend of mine in class, and her reply was to basically tell me that dyslexia isn’t real. Seriously dude? Lived with it all my life here, I think I would know. I’m not looking for a pity party over here or anything. I’ve been dealing with this issue all my life, and I’ve done pretty dang well at getting past it. I don’t want your pity, I just want your understanding. I try to hide it, but sometimes somethings just harder for me and I’d like to talk to my friends about it, so I’m sorry if you don’t “believe” in dyslexia, but it’s affects some people out there.

I’m sorry we can’t all be as perfect as you