The Normal One

I was wandering through Barnes & Noble one day about a year ago, and I meandered into the psychological/mental health section. I wanted to see if I could find anything for myself; alas, they didn't even carry Too Loud, Too Tight, Too Fast, Too Bright, which is pretty much the only adult SPD book that I have ever been able to find. As I was perusing the shelves, I saw a book called The Normal One. The author grew up with a mentally ill sibling, and as such, was labeled "the normal child." That was the first time I realized how much my condition may have affected my brother.

He is two and half years younger than I am, and as I grew, my problems arose, and my family dealt with it the best they could, since we weren't to find the answers for 9 years after my symptoms arose, and another 4 years until I was properly treated. My family tried to be accomodating, and for that I am eternally grateful.

My mom went on a quest for the answer. My dad understood something was wrong, and tried to work around it. I talked to my mom frequently about it, and I used to butt heads with my dad all through adolescence, and still now from time to time, but I believe that is because we have such similar personalities, and had nothing to do with my sensitivities.

My brother, however, didn't really know what was going on. If I asked him to please blow his nose, he would, no questions asked. Our 2nd floor has three bedrooms and a bathroom with two sinks and plenty of storage space; it was intended to be for Mike and me. After about three months, I basically kicked him out of the bathroom. I couldn't handle getting ready for school in the morning with him in the bathroom with me, washing his face and brushing his teeth and doing other perfectly normal morning hygiene activities. It drove me batty, and after my freaking out a couple of times, he started using the basement bathroom. Shortly thereafter, he moved into the basement bedroom too, so he didn't have to use two flights of stairs just to get ready in the morning. I didn't want to evict him from the bathroom, but in the morning I am especially sensitive, and we would even eat breakfast separately.

My "den" as I call it, my TV, computer, and sewing room, is called the bonus room because it is directly above the garage. This means it is right next to the driveway, where my athletic brother wished to play basketball during the warm months. The repetitive bouncing of the basketball was all I could hear, and I couldn't "tune it out" like everyone told me to. It happened almost daily, and I know on many occasions I stuck my head out the window and screamed at him, sometimes escalating to profanity. He would yell back, and eventually we had to work out a system that he could play ball for a few hours a day, during which I would hide somewhere else in the house.

He took all of the crap I threw his way, and accepted that it was part of who I was, even if he didn't understand why I was behaving so. To this day, he has never mocked me or teased me (well, about my sensitivities, anyway), which I took advantage of, and it wasn't until recently did I really appreciate that about him. Many siblings could have been cruel about it, as many of my classmates were, but the worst he ever teased me about was my haircut or the guy I was dating, which is normal sibling behavior, in my opinion. Around the time I started high school, we started to drift apart. As children, we played together all the time with dinosaurs, Thomas the Tank Engine, board games, and baseball in the summer, etc. For the past few years, I have been wishing that we were closer, and I know that our distance is personality related. He is an athlete, a football player, and my passions have always been craft related, and then I went into theatre. We live in two different worlds. But that doesn't mean we can't be friends, and I realized that if I wanted a closer relationship with my brother, I should initiate it.

Through my treatment, I've improved to a mental stability to share my condition with others. I used to be extremely prideful, hiding it from everyone. In the past week, I have posted many things on Facebook about SPD, including the simple admission that I have it, which may have been the hardest step. I also shared this blog on Facebook. I have had many discussions with my mom and my best friend about my sensitivities, and one or two with my dad, but I realized that I have never talked to Mike about it. The other night he came up to my den (I owed him $5), and when he came up, I talked to him. He sat and listened for a half an hour while I explained my condition to him, how it affects me, and my recent progress. We discussed the growing up, and the concept of his being "the normal one." He was an exceptional listener, and told me that he never felt that way; that I received more attention due to my issues than he did. He said he had always thought of my as just a bit quirky, and the reason we never would hang out was simply that we are two very different people, with which I agreed. He listened intently as I told him about this blog, and how already people from across the world were talking to me through this platform, and he thought that was incredible. I apologized for any hardship me and my condition may have caused him over the years, and he said he didn't think I had anything to apologize for.

Talking about your condition with those around you is important. I learned the hard way that while talking about it may result in confusion, lack of understanding, and sometimes mocking, but I also learned that not talking about it was nearly as destructive. It eats away at you inside, and it can be tremendously hard on your loved ones. Talking about it not only informs them, and may make your life easier. Sometimes, it means you are one step closer to a friendship with a distant sibling. Regardless, talking to my brother, and having him accept me for who I am and what I have, was so reassuring and comforting. My immediate family is so important to me, and I wanted him to know that. I love you, Mike.