I AM NOT CRAZY, JUST DISORDERLY

If you know me at all, you’re aware I juggle a laundry list of mental disorders. Two of them, I didn’t realize even had names until this decade! The ones to which I am referring are Dyscalculia and Synesthesia.

First and foremost, let me make this clear, Asexuality is NOT a disorder any more than Homosexuality, even though some people would like to believe it is! Nymphomania IS a mental disorder and I’m sure glad it’s not one of mine!

This blog is my memoir so I’m hanging it all out there. For your edification, I will attempt to explain the two above.

Dyscalculia is the math version of Dyslexia. To this day, I am unable to figure even simple numbers without having to count on my fingers and toes. Sure, I learned adding & subtracting as well as the multiplication tables in school. And I know for example that 7 plus 5 is 19 and 8 X 6 is 32. -- Hey, that’s close enough as far as I’m concerned.

Another symptom is navigational impairment to an extreme degree. I’ve had appointments and attended events in numerous buildings where I was unable to find my way out! After wandering around aimlessly in confusion, I’d usually find myself in the back or way at the opposite end of the entrance. Whenever I asked for directions all I’d hear was, “Blah, da, blah, that way and turn left, then yada, yada, then another left, yammer-yammer, then go right blather, blather, blather.” – I’d be more confused than ever!

Did I neglect to mention that I get left & right confused? Dyscalculia also involves severe spatial unawareness and depth perception as well.

And people actually wonder why I get anxiety attacks behind the wheel of a car! I didn’t get my Driver’s License until late in life. Had it been my choice, I would NEVER have gotten one at all!

My father used to say, “Dianne has a natural tendency to do things the opposite way with everything!”

Synesthesia is more difficult to talk about, because I always get “The Look.” This disorder is a co-mingling of sounds, smells, colors, & tastes. For example the name Frances spelled either in the masculine or feminine version makes me taste roast turkey with gravy when I say it. With Marie its spice cake, David baked chicken, Ralph beef stew, Linda mint wafers, Mary milk, Rosemary cream, Jane black coffee, Martin peanut butter, Barbara cucumbers, etc.

Also with Synesthesia, numbers have colors, smells, & personalities. For example, 8 is purple, a tad vain, but she is good-hearted, & smells like Spanish perfume. 4 is pink & prissy & smells like laundry detergent. 7 is green, has charisma, is quite conceited, & he smells like spearmint. 9 is charcoal, he is friendly, reliable, helpful, & smells like sweat. 2 is sky blue, snippy & shallow, she smells like fried bananas. 1 is arrogant & controlling; he is bleach white and smells like cheap hair tonic. 3 is golden orange, big-hearted, out-spoken, & with zero tolerance for bullies, she smells like musk & citrus combined.

I’ve only met ONE other person with this condition. It was during the second grade. Our Bible studies teacher (this was the 1950’s) claimed the number 6 was evil, because it's the Devil’s number. Afterward, I told the boy next to me she was wrong, because 6 is sweet and shy, her color is butter yellow, & she smells like honeysuckle.

“YOU are WRONG!” he declared. “6 is brownish, has a filthy mouth, & smells like steamed fish!”

Bitterly, we argued back and forth! If ANY number IS the Devil’s number, it HAS to be 5!!! Its blood red; obnoxious, loud, pushy & smells like insecticide! Trust me, I am right about this!!! 

Always I’ve been highly self-conscious and embarrassed about myself. I HATE having to make conversation, so I just learned to remain tight-lipped. Better this than being labeled crazy. There has never been a time in my life when someone wasn’t trying to glue an ugly label onto me. I didn’t need another! My OCD alone is difficult enough for other people to understand.

As a child, when introduced by my mother, she would add, “Bill & I blame ourselves for the way Dianne is. She wasn’t raised around other children.” Mom always said this in a tone that made me sound like a 6 year old prostitute or drug addict!

My folks should have been proud that I didn’t end up that way. I KNOW I AM! Perhaps they’d rather I turned out like my brother, a paranoid schizophrenic who has been in and out of the psychiatric ward of federal prison! If the option existed, we BOTH would have been sent back for a refund. 

 

FOOTNOTE:  My mother had a bout of her own with paranoid schizophrenia, but that memory will be shared another time.