Dyslexia caused me real trouble at school. Every year the teachers ask who has dyslexia or spelling problems in the class. They mean well, but in those moments I always felt like an outsider, tagged as "stupid." Stupid like in elementary school when I had to copy twenty times the sixty words I'd misspelled in dictation.
Some teachers read essays aloud to show who got it completely wrong while the whole class laughs. This happened to me constantly. I'd misread a word in the assignment and end up writing something totally off-topic. Bad grades for misreading the question, endless zeros in spelling, poor marks across the board—I was doomed to be near the bottom of the class. After middle school, I was steered toward a vocational track with more hands-on work. I hoped I'd finally break into the top three.
Outside school I hit other walls. I don't always find the right words to express myself. When I argue with someone, I often use words that are too harsh, and that creates tension. Even with friends it's hard. I never write an email without spell-check because I'm afraid of being ridiculed.
When I go on vacation with friends and see them reading or talking about authors, I feel ignorant because I don't read. It feels like I'm missing something important. At the same time, reading makes me sick: all the shame and pain from childhood come flooding back. I prefer searching online instead—paragraphs are shorter, it feels like a game. I watch history and science programs on television so I can talk with others about things I care about. But even that takes enormous effort because I struggle to remember what I read or see.
Somehow, none of this stopped me from getting into a good engineering school this year. And for the first time, I actually like what I'm doing.
Arnaud Franc, 2009
(Ombres et Lumière no. 168)