From birth, I looked ‘normal’, sure there were exceptions, but all seemed things a ‘normal’ person might do or say, now and then. I was treated as a normal kid, but by second grade, I had learned a hate of myself so deep, I’m lucky to simply be alive today.
This post stems from a few recent conversations I have had with people about the relative definition of disability, and some articles I have read by people who think that disability is just an artificial construct that people use to exclude others.
Now, A generally accepted definition is that, a dysfunction or disability is something that seriously interferes with a person's ability to live a normal life. There are many philosophical discussions on the definition of normal and abnormal, and even on how much variation within normal is in fact normal.
For example, some people can walk without tripping or falling, some people can sprint miles, some people have prosthetic legs that work better than average, and some have difficulty navigating stairs, but others have legs so crippled that they are bound in a wheelchair forever. Can we say they are relatively normal when you are touring the Rocky Mountains?
Unfortunately, it seems that these discussions seem to minimize the basic meaning and needs of those who lie outside this ineffable ‘normal’.
The line may seem blurry, as in those who have clear skin and those who have acne; but what of those who have permanently disfigured faces, the kind that few have the ability NOT to stare at?
Maybe it would not matter to a person who is blind, but most of us are not blind.
I can only speak now for myself, and of my experiences as far as this idea of normalcy is concerned.
I spent my childhood failing, working hard, focusing, sacrificing hours to keep up, but it was no use.
I can remember the hours my Mom spent trying to get me to memorize spelling and math facts from flash cards.
I remember crying in shame as my Father tried his best to teach me about things that were important to him. From car and home maintenance to hiking and bowling to driving jeeps and sports cars to understanding how to smooth talk a sales person. I failed them all.
And no matter how I tried I could NEVER convince anyone that there was something wrong.
"Why would there be? Carrie is so smart when she wants to be."
There was always the assumption that I wasn't trying hard enough, that I wasn't paying attention, that I was failing on purpose. I have always felt like I failed the people who invested so much in me.
Really, if only I could put as much into my school as I did in reading... I would ace all my classes. By the time I was seven I remember the first stirrings of what would haunt me to this day;
"Maybe there ISN'T something wrong, you need attention so bad you made this all up, you are so screwed up you can't even decide to stop doing it anymore, you don't deserve anything!"
There may be many grays of normal, in fact, I have well above normal verbal abilities. In ways, this was the proverbial “nail in my coffin.” Once people saw me being ‘smart’ there was no excuse for when I was being flat-out moronic, other than assuming I was acting-out or not trying hard enough.
I need to have a way of telling the world that I don't work right, that something about my brain is broken, that I am doing my best and trying my hardest.
Because now, when I fail, and I do often, I can stop feeling selfish, and disgusting, as if I just am not trying hard enough. Now, I can ask for help, or let it go, or try something else.
With this ability to say I am NOT normal, I am not even a gray area around normal, I can finally start talking to those pieces of myself I have locked away, beaten, and starved for the last 23 years of my life.
For the first time in my life, I can hope that maybe I can forgive myself, and that I might someday feel like a whole person.
