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Decided to drop by for the night cause I'm bored and I wanted to... *hops off stallion, holding up cloak* anyone got a washing machine?

I always get itchy feet after helping a forum for a while. I move on when needed. This is my longest project ever, and I don't regret it.

But the staff have successfully proven themselves, and it's time for me to go on. I will still be on MSN, so I don't have any shout-outs.

DON'T IM me saying: "OMFG!!! YOU'RE LEAVING!!! NNNNNNNNNNNNUUUUUU!!!!!"

Cause it ticks me off, to be honest.

I'll still stay in touch with everyone who I'm friends with.

And an apology to the ones who I have pissed off or upset in the past or recently. You know who you are.

*puts on dusty cloak and pack* Take care of yourselves, people... *rides off into the sunset on black stallion*

Yes, this is my true story. I decided after reading a story to put out my own story. I will not put some things in, but all of it is pretty much accurate, told from my parents when I was a baby to where I am now.

This is dedicated to my mom, who taught me how to fly.

And all the guardian angels who kept me in flight and repaired my broken wing. And everyone else who helps people who are "different."

Please comment.

~*~

Being Normal: Prologue

~*~

I just graduated college and was like a big boat adrift at sea.

I was lost with the rest of my life, the crushing weight of my parents starting to strangle me, but not able to leave yet due to loans and the fact I had no car. I grew up in this town, and was back for the summer to find my place in this big new world, and maybe myself.

I sat on the uncomfortable stool with no back to it reading: “Lord of the Rings†at a bookstore to kill time until my shift ended. It’s a small, quiet town where there are more tourists in the peak season of July and August than locals. The owner was this kind man named Richard, he knew I was different, but he didn’t care. He took me in right after I graduated and made me feel like I was at home at the bookstore.

Richard approached me when I was sitting there and offered me a book titled: The Short Bus, by Johnathan Mooney. “You can relate to it,†he said, “It’s about a guy who was born dyslexic and severely learning disabled who bought a short yellow bus. (The mark for any child with a disability, even today it’s called the “****** bus†by kids who even ride it.) Who drives around the United States looking for stories like his. He also graduated from Browne with a master.â€

I slowly put down the other book. Usually it takes a long time for me to get into a book. I guess its part of me. My mind wanders a lot and I get bored easily when focusing on one thing unless it’s really good, when I play video games or read some books, I lose myself in them, not even being aware of what’s around me. I open the first page and lose myself in the story immediately, being swept to where this guy, out of all people out there I have met and read, I finally can relate to.

Someone who tried to “be normalâ€.

~*~

I was born to a hospital in New England. My parents didn’t have much, so I guess they didn’t run as many tests as they wanted to. They never noticed I had a hole in my eardrum.

Years later, when I look back at it, I see how they might’ve not noticed. Technology back then wasn’t as good as it is today for testing the deaf. Maybe they couldn’t test me, but it was three critical years of hearing that I lost when an infant needs it the most. I was overlooked, not tested for a test that could’ve simply been done in five to ten minutes.

When I finally left the hospital as a baby, despite my mom’s protests that something was wrong, I was rushed back within 24 hours, a staff infection attacking my whole body. My mom tells me later in life I nearly died several times during the infection. I finally won over the infection, but it left me with brain damage, and I was diagnosed with a learning disability later on.

Not much happened after the infection and my age of three. I developed very slowly. I was a quiet kid, never making any noise. I didn’t talk until I was six; it is kinda hard when you can’t hear anything for the longest time to talk. Least, that’s what I heard. I also had problems walking, later I would develop a walk that made me fall a lot, where instead of walking on the soles of my feet, and I’d walk on the sides of my feet. But that’s later on.

When I was three, my parents found out I was deaf. It was a simple thing, actually. I was in a playpen or cradle at the time outside with my parents, and sirens went off by our house. I didn’t react any way, shape or form.

A simple test that my parents caught that no one else did for three years finally shown that I was deaf.

Testing was done immediately, and it shown what happened since I was born. I had a hole in my eardrum. It took one surgery to fix the problem.

With learning to hear, it brought a barrage of sensory overload probably to the child who couldn’t hear her whole life. But it brought on severe handicaps at the same time.

I ended up stuttering, not really as bad as some, but I still today stumble over some words that are easy to say. When I was a little kid, I stumbled all the time over simple words, but my mom was there, slowly teaching me how to say them. New words, and sometimes old, are still impossible for me in most cases. I can’t do pronunciation correctly, even with everything they give you. It’s hopeless for me until someone says the word and I mimic it back to them.

Anyway, I’m getting off track.

The doctors said I’d never be “normal.†That I would never make it in life without a hand holding me throughout the way…

They said I needed to go to an institution for the rest of my life.

Back then, the institutions were government run, I think they’re not around anymore, but I don’t know. The government put the kids with disabilities who they thought would never make it in their lives. Making it a “break†for the parents who had them, a place where they will take care of these kids for the rest of their lives without parents having to deal with them or worry about them.

It was a hell house.

I was too young at the time to remember if I even went there with my parents to there. My mom told me about it later, though. Every room had kids wearing helmets, some of them banging their heads violently against the walls over and over again all day long.

This is what they considered a “safe living environment†for these kids.

My mom refused. She saw something in me that no one else did, a spark, maybe just a little bit of hope in her part, but she didn’t give up, and it kept from going to that place.

~*~

I wonder today, looking back at it, what would’ve happened if I stayed there. Even the special education classes they offered back then and maybe even today severely limits the teaching of these kids. I look back at the other kids who were just as smart, who just needed a chance, who had great gifts that no one saw…

But were never given them it.

Those kids in the institution, they probably never experienced what I’ve seen. The comfort of reading a book curled up on your bed with cocoa on your side and snow falling out the window on a weekend, or a rainy day the same way.

The joy of getting handed your diploma after years of work, tears slowly going down your face as your family watches. Or maybe even just sitting down with your mom and talking about your day, or camping with your dad.

I wondr how many times these kids didn’t get to experience this just because they were labeled “unable to go to a normal school.â€

And that’s where my tale begins.