I feel the need to include a disclaimer here: I am not a therapist, occupational therapist, or doctor. The descriptions that follow are simply my observations and conclusions that I have acquired through books, websites, and my own occupational therapist.
So, then, what is Sensory Processing Disorder?
Contrary to the beliefs of many people I have known, I am not crazy, bipolar, or schizophrenic. I do not have ADD or OCD. This is NOT a psychological condition, it is a neurological disorder. This disorder is frequently misdiagnosed, in children and adults, because it is not yet published in any manuals, such as the DSM-IV. It is also difficult to diagnose because it is often comorbid to a primary disorder, such as Autism, Asperger's, and Attention Deficit Disorder. I only suffer from SPD, though the effects of the disorder first caused an anxiety disorder, and depression later on. From what I understand, that is not uncommon.
To understand what this disorder is, a discussion of normal sensory processing is in order. Sensory processing involves several steps. A person will look at a bird, and the image of the bird is transmitted to the brain, and then the person conciously registers that they are looking at a bird. The same applies to all of our senses. Our bodies take in the sensory information and the brain proccesses it. At every moment of every day, every person is bombarded with sensory input. Therefore, the brain filters out anything that is irrelevant; for instance, the color of the house you just drove past, or the whirr of the ceiling fan. The brain draws your attention to what it deems important; for example, the car in front of you hitting their brakes, or your boss giving you instructions. There is simply too much sensory input for us to consciously process, so our brains quietly do the work in the background, and we only are only conscious of what it deems relevant. This is how the brain is supposed to work.
For a person with Sensory Processing Disorder, the process is a little different. Our brains take in the sensory information, and somehow it gets garbled on the way to our conscious thoughts. We take in the sensory information, and our brains don't properly determine what is relevant input and what isn't. Let's say you're in a conference room with your boss. You really really want to pay attention to what they are telling you, but all you hear is the loud whirring of the fan, or see your coworker jiggling their foot, or the sound of pages of paper being turned. Sensory "triggers" and the degree to which they affect a person are different for everyone, but the concept is the same. The brain determines that ordinarily irrelevant input is important, and brings it to the front of our consciousness, so that we can't ignore it. Unfortunately, this makes it very difficult for us to pay attention to what actually is important, and then the brain has another reaction.
It floods your system with adrenaline. These irrelevant sensory inputs are so distracting, they can be even physically painful, and your body goes into its primal fight-or-flight mode. Some children get into trouble for causing fights in school due to their inability to understand why they feel that way. If I am in an extremely uncomfortable position, I must GET OUT RIGHT NOW. Or I may do something I regret to stop the offending sensory input. I have found a way to escape without physically leaving; foam earplugs. They are amazing for shopping, and helped me focus on tests in school. I also rejoiced the day I got an iPod, because they are socially acceptable ways to remove yourself from the outside world. I went to college in Chicago, which has a fantastic public transportation system, and half the people on the trains and buses were listening to their iPods. It was the only way I was able to use that transportation. (Hence, the title of my blog.) Unfortunately, sometimes escape is not an option. Sometimes you are conversing with someone who is talking so loudly it makes your ears hurt, or you are in a room with bright flickering lights that give you a migraine and make you want to scream. Again, it is different for everyone.
SPD is not a chemical or hormonal problem in your brain. I like to say it's a wiring problem. Due to this, psychiatric medications or traditional forms of treatment do not affect SPD. The only drugs that make a difference are benzodiazepines, but they are a crutch to be used when in sensory overload. I used to have a prescription for Valium for when sensory overload sent me into a panic attack. However, it was not an answer to the problem, it was a bandaid for the side effects. It calmed me down, but still did not help reduce my reactions to my sensitivities. The only real answer is occupational therapy. Unfortuately, most OTs do not usually work with adults, and don't really know what to do with them in therapy. It took me three years and three OTs to find one that managed to get through to me (she was a godsend), and dozens upon dozens of rejection phone calls in between.
I am not saying that psychiatric drugs have no value in a course of treatment. While medications will not help SPD, they are extremely useful in treating emotional and psychiatric side effects of the condition. As I said, I have an anxiety disorder and a previously debilitating depression, which were a result of my sensory defensiveness. Occupational therapy does not treat those. My current "cocktail" is 75 mg of Zoloft, 1/2 mg Risperdal, and 2 mg Klonopin daily. I was in a deep dark hole and couldn't climb out, and my occupational therapy was only helping minimally. I finally admitted that I needed some chemical help, and now I am no longer a couch potato (well, not all the time). I have the motivation to get out of bed in the morning and do something productive with my day, and without my medications, I doubt I would be making the progress I am now. My talk therapist put it this way: I was stuck in a dark closet and I couldn't open the door.These drugs would help me push the door open, even just a crack, so that I could see that sliver of light outside and push my way out of that closet of depression. He was right. My progress in my occupational therapy and my personal life increased dramatically after a month on the meds. I have no intention of taking them forever, but I am willing to admit that I need them now, and will wean myself off of them (with my psychiatrist's supervision) when I feel I am ready. Whether it is 2 months from now or 2 years from now, I know these medications played a huge role in my ability to save myself, and I fully appreciate them for that.
So I have my daily "cocktail" and I also have my daily sensory diet, on which I will elaborate in another post.
I am putting my condition and my life out on the internet for all to see, and while I was nervous at first, I know I have already touched one life, perhaps more, and this just fuels my fervor to continue this blog and continue spreading the word about SPD. So please, click follow on the right side, and pass this blog on. I also hope that friends and family of those who suffer from this condition will read, so that they may better understand what we go through every day.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Business, Ethics, & Society
First of all, I should mention that I am rather germophobic, and feel the need to be clean at all times. My hands feel sticky? I will wash them 4 times in a half hour. An hour ago, my neighbor (9th grade) took me on a ride in his go-cart around our yards. It was amazing! It was exhilarating! I have always loved roller coasters (no doubt because of the vestibular input), but I was amazed at how much fun it was, even to be a passenger. We had some air time, which was awesome, and when I got out of the cart, my bare feet were filthy. I have not yet washed them. Progress!
My second item today requires some context. My story was about my first experience with my condition was when I was ten years old. Today's story happened almost ten years later, when I was 19 and a sophomore in college at DePaul University in Chicago. I had to take several business classes for my theatre & costuming major, one of which was called Business, Ethics, and Society. It was fascinating; I read Plato and Aristotle, studied parts of the Bible from a societal point of view, my professor was exceptionally engaging, and I wrote an 8 page paper on Martin Luther. As with most of my general education classes, we all tended to sit in the same seats every day, twice a week, for an hour and a half. The guy who always sat next to me, no matter how hard I tried to avoid him, caused me some issues, though he was not the only one.
My mother has always encouraged me to journal and write. My occupational therapist has recently been espousing the same philosophy, so that it will document my journey and progress. At the age of 19, one is less likely to follow the advice of one's mother, due to natural rebellion and wanting to live your own life away from your parents. However, I did follow her advice once during class. I was suffering through a particularly difficult day in class, and on a whim, decided to write. I wrote about what I was feeling and experiencing at that particular moment, in my state of fight or flight, and thankfully I saved it. I would like to share it, and will share the whole "transcript." I was agitated, and free-writing more than anything else (I can barely read my own handwriting) but since it is my only documentation of how I felt when I was experiencing sensory "attacks," I want to post it. Forgive the language and the grammer, for I copied it exactly, to the letter.
More context: I went to a conservatory theatre program for my bachelor's degree (Bachelor's of Fine Arts in Costume Technology), and all designers and technicians were required to take a class called Survey of Art, Architecture, Fashion, and Furniture. It was a year long course, and brutal in the amount of information we had to memorize, and we simply referred to it as "Survey." Secondly, my school was called The Theatre School at DePaul University, but as that is a long and cumbersome name, all the students and professors referred to it as "TTS."
"Observations, 9/29/08
The girl next to me was munching saltines. I decided it was an earplug day. The crinkling of the plastic and crunching of the crackers continued for twenty minutes, but only about ten crackers disappeared. Anorexic? My suspicions seem more plausable when I look over her shoulder to see a private trainer's page up on her laptop an hour later. And she really doesn't need to lose more weight. She also has this OBNOXIOUS cough that I hope means she has bronchitis or something because even the most seasoned smoker would be ashamed to vocalize that in public. Black lung, anyone? And she CAN'T STOP MOVING! Not just little foot movements, sways, her whole legs are bouncing all over the place. Apparently she is impatient to be back outside, burning more of the nonexistent cracker calories before they are fully digested. Clearly, she is number one annoyance today. I tried to go earplug - less for a little while today, but it just didn't work. Oh, now little foot sways. And the guy next to her. And done. He's a sniffler too. And back to foot movements. I don't understand why people are incapable of sitting still. There again! I want to reach over and make them sit still! I can't even cover my eyes with my hair sufficiently to block this out. I'll have to turn toward the wall completely. On ten seconds, off ten seconds. Over and over. Today is not as bad as sometimes. But class just is NEVER GOING TO END. It's like Survey, for fuck's sake. But in Survey it never mattered if I didn't pay attention. I actually want to pay attention. Here, I can't, due to the girl and the nose boy next to me and the girl in front of me, well, she was sniffing for awhile, and then she fell asleep. I don't know what it would be like now, she kinda woke up again, not like these 8 minutes are going to be worthwhile. I might just start glaring at people, they all think I'm kind of a strange nut anyways, TTS and all."
The guy who sat next to me day after day could not stop moving. He was always rubbing his face, his nose, itching his ears, chewing on pens, etc. One day (it may have been the same day), I became so frustrated and angry that I nearly ripped the pen out of his mouth. Instead, I took a 20 minute bathroom break (the class was only an hour and half). I paced the halls, trying to calm down, dreading the moment I had to return to the classroom. I did this frequently during my Survey class, using "bathroom breaks" to escape massively uncomfortable situations.
I did manage to graduate Cum Laude in June of 2010, almost a year ago. That is likely the accomplishment I am most proud of in my life so far. However, I do believe that the only reason I made it through those four years was because it was a conservatory program. I had 95% of my classes with my peers in TTS (scenic, lighting, and costume designers, and costume technicians and theatre technicians), and eventually, they learned that I was a little different. (I think) they liked and respected me as a person and a seamstress, so they tolerated my "quirks." I only had to take approximately 5 general education classes over my four years there, and those were the most difficult classes to get through. I dropped several due to people in the class or the professor. I almost took a leave of absence my senior year, due to my deteriorating condition and my also deteriorating depression, but I knew that if I left I would never come back. So I stuck it out, hard though it was (especially due to yet undiscussed friendship issues), and I graduated. I have a degree, very specific though it may be, and I am proud that I accomplished that. Even the smallest accomplishments need to be recognized and mentally praised, and graduation was a huge one. I completely understand those with my condition who do not have post-secondary eduation degrees, or those who acquired them later in life. I'm still astonished that I graduated a year ago, with honors.
Of course, I still struggle. I would love to take a pottery class but I am afraid of the other students, and what reactions they might evoke. I am pushing forwards a little bit every day, and I feel that this blog is a big step, like my graduation. I hope that those who share my condition understand what it is like.
My second item today requires some context. My story was about my first experience with my condition was when I was ten years old. Today's story happened almost ten years later, when I was 19 and a sophomore in college at DePaul University in Chicago. I had to take several business classes for my theatre & costuming major, one of which was called Business, Ethics, and Society. It was fascinating; I read Plato and Aristotle, studied parts of the Bible from a societal point of view, my professor was exceptionally engaging, and I wrote an 8 page paper on Martin Luther. As with most of my general education classes, we all tended to sit in the same seats every day, twice a week, for an hour and a half. The guy who always sat next to me, no matter how hard I tried to avoid him, caused me some issues, though he was not the only one.
My mother has always encouraged me to journal and write. My occupational therapist has recently been espousing the same philosophy, so that it will document my journey and progress. At the age of 19, one is less likely to follow the advice of one's mother, due to natural rebellion and wanting to live your own life away from your parents. However, I did follow her advice once during class. I was suffering through a particularly difficult day in class, and on a whim, decided to write. I wrote about what I was feeling and experiencing at that particular moment, in my state of fight or flight, and thankfully I saved it. I would like to share it, and will share the whole "transcript." I was agitated, and free-writing more than anything else (I can barely read my own handwriting) but since it is my only documentation of how I felt when I was experiencing sensory "attacks," I want to post it. Forgive the language and the grammer, for I copied it exactly, to the letter.
More context: I went to a conservatory theatre program for my bachelor's degree (Bachelor's of Fine Arts in Costume Technology), and all designers and technicians were required to take a class called Survey of Art, Architecture, Fashion, and Furniture. It was a year long course, and brutal in the amount of information we had to memorize, and we simply referred to it as "Survey." Secondly, my school was called The Theatre School at DePaul University, but as that is a long and cumbersome name, all the students and professors referred to it as "TTS."
"Observations, 9/29/08
The girl next to me was munching saltines. I decided it was an earplug day. The crinkling of the plastic and crunching of the crackers continued for twenty minutes, but only about ten crackers disappeared. Anorexic? My suspicions seem more plausable when I look over her shoulder to see a private trainer's page up on her laptop an hour later. And she really doesn't need to lose more weight. She also has this OBNOXIOUS cough that I hope means she has bronchitis or something because even the most seasoned smoker would be ashamed to vocalize that in public. Black lung, anyone? And she CAN'T STOP MOVING! Not just little foot movements, sways, her whole legs are bouncing all over the place. Apparently she is impatient to be back outside, burning more of the nonexistent cracker calories before they are fully digested. Clearly, she is number one annoyance today. I tried to go earplug - less for a little while today, but it just didn't work. Oh, now little foot sways. And the guy next to her. And done. He's a sniffler too. And back to foot movements. I don't understand why people are incapable of sitting still. There again! I want to reach over and make them sit still! I can't even cover my eyes with my hair sufficiently to block this out. I'll have to turn toward the wall completely. On ten seconds, off ten seconds. Over and over. Today is not as bad as sometimes. But class just is NEVER GOING TO END. It's like Survey, for fuck's sake. But in Survey it never mattered if I didn't pay attention. I actually want to pay attention. Here, I can't, due to the girl and the nose boy next to me and the girl in front of me, well, she was sniffing for awhile, and then she fell asleep. I don't know what it would be like now, she kinda woke up again, not like these 8 minutes are going to be worthwhile. I might just start glaring at people, they all think I'm kind of a strange nut anyways, TTS and all."
The guy who sat next to me day after day could not stop moving. He was always rubbing his face, his nose, itching his ears, chewing on pens, etc. One day (it may have been the same day), I became so frustrated and angry that I nearly ripped the pen out of his mouth. Instead, I took a 20 minute bathroom break (the class was only an hour and half). I paced the halls, trying to calm down, dreading the moment I had to return to the classroom. I did this frequently during my Survey class, using "bathroom breaks" to escape massively uncomfortable situations.
I did manage to graduate Cum Laude in June of 2010, almost a year ago. That is likely the accomplishment I am most proud of in my life so far. However, I do believe that the only reason I made it through those four years was because it was a conservatory program. I had 95% of my classes with my peers in TTS (scenic, lighting, and costume designers, and costume technicians and theatre technicians), and eventually, they learned that I was a little different. (I think) they liked and respected me as a person and a seamstress, so they tolerated my "quirks." I only had to take approximately 5 general education classes over my four years there, and those were the most difficult classes to get through. I dropped several due to people in the class or the professor. I almost took a leave of absence my senior year, due to my deteriorating condition and my also deteriorating depression, but I knew that if I left I would never come back. So I stuck it out, hard though it was (especially due to yet undiscussed friendship issues), and I graduated. I have a degree, very specific though it may be, and I am proud that I accomplished that. Even the smallest accomplishments need to be recognized and mentally praised, and graduation was a huge one. I completely understand those with my condition who do not have post-secondary eduation degrees, or those who acquired them later in life. I'm still astonished that I graduated a year ago, with honors.
Of course, I still struggle. I would love to take a pottery class but I am afraid of the other students, and what reactions they might evoke. I am pushing forwards a little bit every day, and I feel that this blog is a big step, like my graduation. I hope that those who share my condition understand what it is like.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Baseball bats and crocodiles
Imagine you have someone following you around with a baseball bat, and they periodically whack you with it. You don't know when they will hit you, how many times they will hit you, or how hard they will hit you, but you know that they will. They are always following, sometimes delivering multiple blows, and sometimes they just shadow you quietly for a little while. How would you feel?
The normal human reaction would be a flood of adrenaline through their body, sending them into fight or flight mode. And if someone is following you around with that baseball bat, you will constantly be on alert, constantly ready to fight or flee. Imagine being in that adrenaline-induced hyper-aware state 24/7, 365.
When someone asks me what my condition feels like, that is how I describe it. I believe that it is nearly impossible to understand what it truly feels like if someone has not experienced it, and I also believe that many who mocked me in the past would not last a day in my shoes. Despite the fact that many of us struggle through our days, with our sensitivities and possible ridicule, I remind myself that it takes incredible strength of character for us to simply go about our daily business. I had to find that strength within myself under layers of depression, but it was there, and has given me the will to get out of bed in the morning and make a difference in my own life.
Quick overview: sensitivities can affect all five senses, as well as proprioception and the vestibular system. Sensitivities can range from mildly irritating to debilitating. Each person is different.
I am extremely sensory defensive, mainly auditory and tactile, with some visual and minor food issues.
Sniffing, coughing, chewing crunchy food, gum popping, the faint buzzing of the fridge, and the clicking of my ceiling fan are a few of my auditory sensitivities. I cringe at loud noises, and have an aversion to small children, due to their tendency to make loud noises. I often joke that I'm haunted by the crocodile that ate my hand, because I can't stand ticking clocks (and I love Peter Pan). I often request a specific table at a restaurant, as far away from others as possible, and I like having my back to the wall, so nothing can surprise me from behind.
I cut all the tags out of all of my clothing. I only wear cotton, linen, and rayon. Cotton blends with stretch are fine, and I will occasionally buy cotton/poly blends, but I avoid polyester on principle, but not because it bothers me; I'm a seamstress. I avoid wool like the plague. I have cut collars out of basic crewneck tshirts because I felt like they were choking me, and for the same reason, I never wear turtlenecks. It generally takes me 10 minutes to get settled properly on the couch; I have to arrange my clothes so that no seams bother me, and half the time I move ever so slightly and have to start over. When I am at home, I wear pajamas, all the time. Soft cotton pants from Gap, a pullover shelf bra, and a soft tshirt or tank top is my daily uniform. I do wear jeans and underwire when I leave the house, but they bother me after a few hours. I sleep naked because the seams of my pajamas drive me nuts, and I would constantly be rearranging them, and therefore get no sleep. I sometimes have to stop to rearrange the seams of my socks in my shoes.
Visually speaking, bright lights bother me, and I do wear my sunglasses more than most people. Repetitive movements drive me nuts. In particular, people tapping their feet, or bouncing their legs while seated, or twirling their hair around their finger will prompt me to move elsewhere, or place something in my line of vision, so I can't see it. As far as foods go, anything with a pudding-like texture makes me gag. Pudding, yogurt, jello, cottage cheese, etc, are all off the menu for me.
These are my sensitivities. How my condition affects me personally and many anecdotes about my own sensory situations will be revealed later on, as well as a bit about me as a person, because I am not my condition. I have an interesting life aside from my issues. But more on that later.
The normal human reaction would be a flood of adrenaline through their body, sending them into fight or flight mode. And if someone is following you around with that baseball bat, you will constantly be on alert, constantly ready to fight or flee. Imagine being in that adrenaline-induced hyper-aware state 24/7, 365.
When someone asks me what my condition feels like, that is how I describe it. I believe that it is nearly impossible to understand what it truly feels like if someone has not experienced it, and I also believe that many who mocked me in the past would not last a day in my shoes. Despite the fact that many of us struggle through our days, with our sensitivities and possible ridicule, I remind myself that it takes incredible strength of character for us to simply go about our daily business. I had to find that strength within myself under layers of depression, but it was there, and has given me the will to get out of bed in the morning and make a difference in my own life.
Quick overview: sensitivities can affect all five senses, as well as proprioception and the vestibular system. Sensitivities can range from mildly irritating to debilitating. Each person is different.
I am extremely sensory defensive, mainly auditory and tactile, with some visual and minor food issues.
Sniffing, coughing, chewing crunchy food, gum popping, the faint buzzing of the fridge, and the clicking of my ceiling fan are a few of my auditory sensitivities. I cringe at loud noises, and have an aversion to small children, due to their tendency to make loud noises. I often joke that I'm haunted by the crocodile that ate my hand, because I can't stand ticking clocks (and I love Peter Pan). I often request a specific table at a restaurant, as far away from others as possible, and I like having my back to the wall, so nothing can surprise me from behind.
I cut all the tags out of all of my clothing. I only wear cotton, linen, and rayon. Cotton blends with stretch are fine, and I will occasionally buy cotton/poly blends, but I avoid polyester on principle, but not because it bothers me; I'm a seamstress. I avoid wool like the plague. I have cut collars out of basic crewneck tshirts because I felt like they were choking me, and for the same reason, I never wear turtlenecks. It generally takes me 10 minutes to get settled properly on the couch; I have to arrange my clothes so that no seams bother me, and half the time I move ever so slightly and have to start over. When I am at home, I wear pajamas, all the time. Soft cotton pants from Gap, a pullover shelf bra, and a soft tshirt or tank top is my daily uniform. I do wear jeans and underwire when I leave the house, but they bother me after a few hours. I sleep naked because the seams of my pajamas drive me nuts, and I would constantly be rearranging them, and therefore get no sleep. I sometimes have to stop to rearrange the seams of my socks in my shoes.
Visually speaking, bright lights bother me, and I do wear my sunglasses more than most people. Repetitive movements drive me nuts. In particular, people tapping their feet, or bouncing their legs while seated, or twirling their hair around their finger will prompt me to move elsewhere, or place something in my line of vision, so I can't see it. As far as foods go, anything with a pudding-like texture makes me gag. Pudding, yogurt, jello, cottage cheese, etc, are all off the menu for me.
These are my sensitivities. How my condition affects me personally and many anecdotes about my own sensory situations will be revealed later on, as well as a bit about me as a person, because I am not my condition. I have an interesting life aside from my issues. But more on that later.
Follow me!
Follow me! On the right hand side of your screen, there is a button that is calling your name. Click it. You know you want to. You can follow me with Google Friend Connect, and you can share my posts on Facebook and Twitter!
I am sincerely hoping that my blog may raise awareness about SPD, and perhaps comfort those who share my condition, and the family and friends of those who do.
Perhaps my goals are rather lofty, and perhaps I have a high opinion of what I am capable of doing. But I can't stand NOT doing anything, so this is my current contribution.
However, this blog will do no good unless it gets "out there," and the only way that will happen is if people follow me. Followers will help bring attention to my blog and SPD, which is my hope.
So, follow me!
I am sincerely hoping that my blog may raise awareness about SPD, and perhaps comfort those who share my condition, and the family and friends of those who do.
Perhaps my goals are rather lofty, and perhaps I have a high opinion of what I am capable of doing. But I can't stand NOT doing anything, so this is my current contribution.
However, this blog will do no good unless it gets "out there," and the only way that will happen is if people follow me. Followers will help bring attention to my blog and SPD, which is my hope.
So, follow me!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Big Steps
As they say, "normal" is just a definition in the dictionary. I learned this the hard way over ten years ago.
I have sensory processing disorder (also known as sensory integration disorder). I have (knowingly) suffered from an unknown problem since I was 10 years old, and only at the age of 19 did I learn that my condition had a name, and I am not alone.
I have felt alone, ostracized, and judged for 13 years because of my condition. Even supposed friends I had had no comprehension of what I was dealing with, even if they said they understood. No one can understand another's path without walking in their shoes, and sometimes, that just isn't possible. No one I know has walked in my shoes, and only my mother tried to see if she could try them on.
After 2 years of major anxiety disorder and depression, I am finally making a little progress. No one in my life seems to realize that "some progress" does not mean I am "better." I will NEVER be better. My life will improve if I continue my program of treatment, but I will never be "normal." I have accepted that. I am currently seeking out individuals who share my condition, so that I may have some support, and I shall see how that goes.
Adult SPD is trivilialized and disregarded by the medical community because most believe it is a pediatric disorder. That is not true. If it were, I would be a productive and successful member of society by now. I know I'm talented, but my sensitivities obstruct my ability to acquire full-time employment. I graduated with a BFA a year ago, and am still unemployed, mostly due to my inablilty to tolerate a common work environment.
I intend to fill this blog with information about adult SPD, and my experiences dealing with it. Another post will follow soon, but for now, I do have one short story. And I believe I should start at the beginning.
I knew I was different when I was ten years old. I went to a private Catholic school K-5, and there was only one class per grade. I was in fifth grade, ready to move on to public middle school, when I started to notice something about myself that my classmates did not share. While there were only 10 kids in my class, it just takes one to make a difference. His name was James. He sniffled. Loudly, and frequently. I would politely ask him to desist. Instead, he mocked me. He sniffled whenver possible just to irritate me. While I know that 10 year old boys have a much different mentality than my own, even then, it really frustrated me. I learned over the years not to ask people to stop whatever was bothering me, because verbal abuse generally followed my request. Given the choice of fight or flight, I generally chose flight, because it did not involve detention or suspension. I did slap someone once for slurping their coffee loudly, but as I gave him fair warning of my reaction, I felt it reasonable, at the time (I was definitely a little drunk at that particular diner).
I intend to post regularly, with bits of my own personal past, and with updates on my current condition. I hope that people reading this are at the very least sympathetic to an involuntary neurological condition, and at best, perhaps I will have some followers who also deal with SPD in their daily lives. I would also hope that family members and friends of those suffering from SPD might read, to increase their understanding and empathy. I know that no one can walk in another's shoes, and I know that my condition has been hardest on my family. My mom, dad, brother, and best friend have been nothing but supportive, and if I believed in God, I would be singing his praises; as it is, I count my blessings every day, and hope that this is recognized as a real disorder, with proper treatment recommendations, before I die.
I have sensory processing disorder (also known as sensory integration disorder). I have (knowingly) suffered from an unknown problem since I was 10 years old, and only at the age of 19 did I learn that my condition had a name, and I am not alone.
I have felt alone, ostracized, and judged for 13 years because of my condition. Even supposed friends I had had no comprehension of what I was dealing with, even if they said they understood. No one can understand another's path without walking in their shoes, and sometimes, that just isn't possible. No one I know has walked in my shoes, and only my mother tried to see if she could try them on.
After 2 years of major anxiety disorder and depression, I am finally making a little progress. No one in my life seems to realize that "some progress" does not mean I am "better." I will NEVER be better. My life will improve if I continue my program of treatment, but I will never be "normal." I have accepted that. I am currently seeking out individuals who share my condition, so that I may have some support, and I shall see how that goes.
Adult SPD is trivilialized and disregarded by the medical community because most believe it is a pediatric disorder. That is not true. If it were, I would be a productive and successful member of society by now. I know I'm talented, but my sensitivities obstruct my ability to acquire full-time employment. I graduated with a BFA a year ago, and am still unemployed, mostly due to my inablilty to tolerate a common work environment.
I intend to fill this blog with information about adult SPD, and my experiences dealing with it. Another post will follow soon, but for now, I do have one short story. And I believe I should start at the beginning.
I knew I was different when I was ten years old. I went to a private Catholic school K-5, and there was only one class per grade. I was in fifth grade, ready to move on to public middle school, when I started to notice something about myself that my classmates did not share. While there were only 10 kids in my class, it just takes one to make a difference. His name was James. He sniffled. Loudly, and frequently. I would politely ask him to desist. Instead, he mocked me. He sniffled whenver possible just to irritate me. While I know that 10 year old boys have a much different mentality than my own, even then, it really frustrated me. I learned over the years not to ask people to stop whatever was bothering me, because verbal abuse generally followed my request. Given the choice of fight or flight, I generally chose flight, because it did not involve detention or suspension. I did slap someone once for slurping their coffee loudly, but as I gave him fair warning of my reaction, I felt it reasonable, at the time (I was definitely a little drunk at that particular diner).
I intend to post regularly, with bits of my own personal past, and with updates on my current condition. I hope that people reading this are at the very least sympathetic to an involuntary neurological condition, and at best, perhaps I will have some followers who also deal with SPD in their daily lives. I would also hope that family members and friends of those suffering from SPD might read, to increase their understanding and empathy. I know that no one can walk in another's shoes, and I know that my condition has been hardest on my family. My mom, dad, brother, and best friend have been nothing but supportive, and if I believed in God, I would be singing his praises; as it is, I count my blessings every day, and hope that this is recognized as a real disorder, with proper treatment recommendations, before I die.
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