"They", you know, those mysterious people who tell us things (such as, eggs are bad for us, it's bad to use heat on your hair, flats are bad for your feet, heels are bad for your feet and legs, running is bad for your knees, etc), say this should be easy for me. I'm not so sure.
While a lot of things "they" say are probably true, a lot of them maybe are not and a lot are easier said than done.
"They" say, opening up is easier once you've done it. I feel like I'm putting a knife in my gut and slowly twisting.
So, here goes:
I texted Jake on Thursday. I had just remembered Wednesday night that he still had a couple movies I had loaned him (Freedom Writers and The Assassination of Jesse James by Robert Ford, the Coward). I texted him asking if I could get them back, because (if you've read my previous blog) I was planning on not talking to him ever again.
He told me to stop by and pick them up anytime, and long story short, I went to his place directly after class and we ended up talking. Well, he ended up doing most of the talking and I ended up crying and trying to talk.
We talked for some time, 3-4 hours I think, and he kept insisting that I was hiding something from him. When I insisted I wasn't, he kept bringing up examples of conversations left unfinished and he kept prodding for answers.
One conversation he referenced was left unfinished, because I got upset and frustrated at the fact that he wouldn't accept my answer of "Well, not really. But we'll leave it at that." He asked why I had said that, so I told him that it was because I had not had enough time to formulate a better answer than that and that I had become frustrated and shut down.
He seemed a little disbelieving, telling me that the conversation (had via texting, because he was at work) had taken nearly 2 hours, and that had to have been more than enough time. When I tried to explain how it wasn't enough time, I couldn't make it come out so that Jake could understand me. I began to get frustrated and I began telling Jake to stop badgering me about it, even though he wasn't.
He got a little suspicious and aksed what was wrong. When I tried to explain and couldn't, I said, "Nothing," and turned to leave. He asked me to stop and try to explain. I told him that I didn't have enough time and that he needed to do homework, so I was leaving. He kindly told me that he had all the time in the world and he would really like to know what was wrong.
I started crying, again, and tried very hard to explain what I was feeling. I started with a story from elementary school:
I had a terrible teacher one year. She couldn't teach math very well at all. As a result, I missed out on a lot of fundamentals. As I progressed to higher grades, my math grades got poorer and poorer. I got a D in 4th grade math and I failed 5th grade math. As some background, it is important you know that I was a straight A student, except for math. I was also in the gifted program and in advanced levels in all subjects but math.
I would sit for hours with my dad and do math homework. We would start directly after dinner, around 6:00pm and work for hours on my math homework. As a 3rd grader, I would be up until midnight sometimes doing math homework, with my dad (sometimes not so patiently by my side) helping me.
He is a Metalurgical Engineer and math comes very easily to him. He is so good at it, he sometimes has a hard time breaking it down and simplifying it to explain it. My teacher couldn't explain it. A lot of times, there would be arguing and shouting from the kitchen table as my dad and I did homework. He would get so frustrated with me, and would say things like, "Come on, Jamie, think! What is 5x5? You know this!" But I honestly did not know what 5x5 was. And I would get so frustrated because I didn't know and I couldn't explain that I didn't know that I would shut down. I would start crying and I could no longer communicate with anyone; I could no longer think or function. I can't tell you how many math assignments had tear stains on them.
I would get so frustrated, because I couldn't explain to my dad that I didn't know. I knew how to say it in my head, but somehow, I couldn't get it out of my mouth. And I would get so upset with myself for not being able to explain and for letting my dad down. I wanted to please him so bad, but I just could not make the words come out. And when I did know the math problem (which was rarely), I could not explain how I had arrived at my answer. I knew how I got there, but I could not articulate that to my dad.
As I progressed through school, classes became more focused on discussion and speaking in class. I dreaded it. I kept quiet and avoided making eye contact with anyone, most especially the teacher, lest they ask me a question or ask me to explain something. I suppose that made my problem worse.
When a teacher did ask me, I could not articulate to them that I did know the answer to the question. You see, back then, I was a voracious reader. I read EVERYTHING I could get my hands on. And because of my musical background, I am a very good listener. I can listen to the teacher in class, not take notes, and still pass a test with an 80% or better. (This has not always worked to my advantage towards teachers, though. They don't like it when you don't take notes.) I can listen to a teacher and repeat almost verbatim what they've said. But I can't articulate to them that I have made my own meaning from the things we've learned in class.
I sometimes can't write what I know. And I require a lot of reflection time to be able to plan what I am going to say; to get the things I know from my head to my mouth.
Jake was slightly flabbergasted, I think. I am one of those students that never cracked a text book in high school, unless the assignment was problems from the math book, and I rarely took notes. In fact, I think my entire high school experience can be summed up in maybe 5 notebooks. I have only read one text book in college, and I didn't even read it all the way through. And I still have relatively good grades. I think Jake was surprised by the fact that I am a "smart kid," but I can't communicate my thoughts or feelings to save my life.
Though, Jake wasn't too surprised. As we have both learned in our SPED classes, gifted students sometimes have learning disabilities, too. While I wouldn't call my inability to communicate, to articulate my thoughts and feelings, a learning disability, per se, it is a disability.
You cannot imagine how awful it is to be unable to communicate with others in a coherent manner. Sometimes, I say things that make absolutely no sense at all, in attempt to communicate. And sometimes the things I say contradict themselves, but I can't seem to find the words to make it correct. I get so frustrated at my inability to articulate myself that I shut down. I just do not know how to handle the intense frustration and I can't make myself function anymore, after a certain point.
Jake has been rather understanding about this, but I still try not to talk to him. I am still hurt that he called me a liar. I have never lied to anyone in my life, ever. And I will never lie to anyone, ever. I suppose, with my inability to communicate, that some things come across as lies, but they aren't. I just, truly, cannot get the words form my head to the person I'm communicating with.
You also cannot imagine how painstaking it is for me to communicate with you about anything beyond pleasantries or music. It takes intense effort and concentration on my part to have a conversation with you, and I leave feeling drained - emotionally, physically, mentally.
I do feel some better now that I am not keeping this a secret anymore. But I am so ashamed of this and I am so terribly worried and terrified about sharing this part of myself. I suppose you all know this now.
I am only sorry it took so long for me to say it and I am sorry it came about the way it did. But I can't ignore it and I can't pretend it doesn't exist, because I deal with it every day.
I do feel some better having said it, though...
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