When I wrote this I didn't intend on it being so, gloomy...and I hate it. But instead of completely deleting it, I just made it annoyingly small so you won't read it unless you really really want to.
What I said is true, it's just not as depressing in reality as it came out in writing. I guess that's just how it goes sometimes. Basically, all I was trying to say is -
- Because I've always had a hard time using words, I'm shocked at how many people can actually understand what I'm saying. I'm even more shocked that I've somehow managed to help a few people, just by writing down my experiences for anyone to see.
- Just because someone doesn't think the same way as you, doesn't mean you can't find a way to translate your thoughts in a way they can understand (as frustrating as it can be in the beginning). And just because someone seems like a lost cause, doesn't mean they actually are. Sometimes you just have to be patient and maybe try to understand what they are going through to be able to bring out their potential.
In the original post I tell you "I'm actually a high school drop-out" Which is true. But I left out the part about going back to school a month after I dropped out. I didn't go back to a "normal" school though. That wasn't a place I wanted to be. So, I enrolled into a "fast track" programme. Basically I did all the same work, just faster.
Then something weird happened. Someone told me that they actually liked my writing. That I had somehow managed to put together an inexplicably coherent string of words that fully expressed what they were feeling. Words they have been trying to find their whole life, Which in my mind is absurd! How could I express something that so many others can't. To me, this was obviously an isolated incident...but then I got more e-mails. And a lot of them said similar things.
The reason I find it so hard to understand is...
I'm actually a high school drop-out, and words confuse the shyte out of me!
Obviously, by high school, I could speak, spell and write. When I read a story or a poem, I could understand what was being said. But putting those same words into a sentence of my own design was like trying to milk a diamond. No matter how simple the scenario was or how well I understood the subject. It didn't matter what I tried, my mind would go almost completely blank. And it frustrated everyone around me. My friends, my teachers, my parents. No one could understand why I wouldn't just let out any old nonsense. But it frustrated and confused me even more.
Eventually I just got tired of caring and just about gave up. I'd still talk to people and attend classes. But I would be very vague or short with everything I said. Mostly I relied on socially acceptable responses to any, even slightly, complex questions. And instead of writing essays, short stories or whatever else you use words for in school, I'd just scribble all over my pages. Which is apparently really insulting. The problem was, I completely understood what was being asked and what I wanted to express. I just didn't know how to express it. There were things I would want to say, and I tried. Words would flow from my mouth, but no one could really understand what I was trying to say. They thought they could, and sometimes they would eventually get it. But mostly I was misunderstood.
Not being able to express yourself can be frustrating. So I did what I always did...I scribbled! One day I left a drawing I did on the dining table and my mum found it. She asked me if everything was okay, did anything happen, did I need to talk. She asked me about the drawing and as we were looking at the scribbled down picture she asked questions. Then a beautiful thing happened...I was able to answer. I understood how to tell my mum about my picture
It took a long time, but I slowly learned how to express myself with words. At first I had to think anything complicated through by drawing it down first. The barrier between how my mind worked with images and how people communicated with words started to break down. I eventually learned to use words to express more complex scenarios and emotions without first releasing the information into an image. It was much like an epiphany, an extremely slow epiphany, but somehow my mind started to understand how to use words. My struggle with words is still there. But it's nowhere near as bad as it used to be.
There are a few habits I've kept from my earlier struggle with words. Like the way I reiterate even the smallest ideas to the point of everyone else's frustration. And, even to me, there are obvious signs I still don't understand the first thing about good writing.
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I actually do have a descent understanding of words. But I still feel like I did when I was a kid, struggling so hard with every word that passes through my mind. Grasping at any and every sentence that seems like it might eventually make sense...
Maybe it doesn't matter if it's "good writing" or not. When I started writing I didn't think anyone would even realize it existed. What I do know is; there are people that have read what I've had to say, and they have taken something from it. I've even helped people with the words I've written. And that's more than I ever dreamed of doing. So I guess I'll just keep on doing what I do. I'll type out words as they come to me and just hope they make sense as I press publish...
