My childhood in a LOUD, colorblind home with dyspraxia – why do YOU care?

Itʻs hard to sometimes concentrate in one thing for a long enough time to finish writing something useful, cleaning something useful… and not do a million things at once, and NOT have the mind rage “a million miles an hour“. So if I write here – or tweet – in uncommon hours, itʻs because my mindʻs on. Sorry – blinkie issues.

Shrinks and some therapists seem to love digging out some poop from their patients (CUSTOMER is a better word – when itʻs a service you pay for) childhood.

So letʻs see.

Why am I “a mess” now… enough mess to need a shrink occasionally for my “obsession about braille”?

My childhood…

Cut the poop. My parents are dead. And I donʻt want to talk to my step sister.

I burned many albums of childhood photos. With physical fire.

My mum looked depressed in most photos.

I did too.

There were none of those “happy type” photos people normally have and save. NEWSFLASH: my family was not American and Iʻm the only whoʻs been to U S of A.  //So don;t make me take Happy Pills just because I should now smile like some mindless seroquel addicted mindless zombie housewife from some WHITE gated community from the outskirts of a medium sized city.


It is NORMAL for human beings to sometimes be happy, sometimes be sad.//

I never realized how much bad or stale energy there was stored in those photos.

Or in photos in general.

Which is why I now #taptapsee or #voiceoverphotography. #a11y #accessibiltiyfeatures #digitarights

I donʻt even need to try to see whatʻs in the picture. I donʻt care. I donʻt even try.

So sad faces in photos.

There were also other issues. Colors! Loud colors.

My mum would use colors that clashed so badly together. Bright green and white. Or brown mustard yellow with bright blue. And there were 500 shades of beige type light browns with ugly patterns everywhere home. Those colors always made my eyes hurt. It was my MOTHER who used those. Not father. I have honestly no clue if my mum was ever tested for some kind of colorblindness, but there was definitely something VERY unique about her colors, use of colors etc.

Another issue that was unique was dyspraxia. Thatʻs an understatement.

My dad was smart in many things – mathematics, books, and he loved learning about languages. But – he was so very dyspraxic. The way papers and everything were in my childhood home. The way he dressed. The way he… all the ways at home. I come from a very dyspraxia home.

My own home is not in a good order either. Thatʻs how I and my other half are. We havenʻt had time or just got everything sorted yet. DYSPRAXIA. There. Donʻt dare to come in my home or look at the way I am dressed and then judge me. Please. I have had enough of that BS in this lifetime.

Besides look at this list about school age kids. ENOUGH. I had shitty eyes as a kid. I have always sucked in ball games, and been a slow runner. My mum was overprotective, and my childhood home was also LOUD (TV and arguments – so I spent more time in the public library doing my homework than home) and so disorganized. No wonder all that Poop on the list rings true.

I am left-handed. My handwriting has never been pretty or girly.

Now that I”ve had “all those brain injuries” in the life (I forgot one – more about it later) – do I really need to see some speech therapists? Cʻmon? English is my THIRD language. I donʻt WANT TO always explain myself in English – and especially when all the people around me are — sighted. Get it?

WTF is this anyway? A quite dyspraxic html to me.

So letʻs just talk more about all that brain injury and cerebral stuff again? Iʻm done.

Good morning and good night for yʻalls.


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