Oneof my favorite professors in college said, “If I tell you his diagnosis, I tellyou nothing.” At age seven, I received five different Axis I diagnoses. I agree with my professor; the label doesn’t matter—whatmatters is my experience. As a child, at times it felt like my language brokeoff from me. I could hear what people were saying and understand, but I couldn’trespond. It still happens. When I get overwhelmed or overworked, my verballanguage is gone.  It usually onlylasts a few minutes to an hour (now), but as a child, it felt like it went onfor days. I felt stupid and messed up. No matter how high the success, I feltlike I did not deserve it. I felt for a long time that there was somethingwrong with me.  I felt this rage inme, which seems almost impossible now—a rage at the microscope held overme and a rage at myself. I went through testing, tutoring, and what seemed liketorture via flash cards and constant redirection from my mother.

Ireceived accommodations throughout school, and my peers picked up on it and notedit as unfair. It was believed that I was faking it or a baby because I lookednormal.  This caused me to feelthat I had to hide who I was, and I often struggled to express my feelings evento my closest of friends. At 18, I had to be revaluated, and had panic attacksjust thinking about the testing. At one point, the Ph.D. told me, joking, “wellyou’re not stupid,” and I almost burst into tears. When people told me I was smart,I never believed it, and when they told me I was stupid, it felt like a jab ata soft spot. That one phrase knocked loose my feelings, and I started to writemore and more about difference and the different worlds we have inside all ofus.

Icope through my imagination and extended daydreaming; I can go away in my mindfor hours. Writing and poetry also provide an escape and a way to connect withothers. I have found poetry to be a space in which anything can happen. I canuse my words, grammar, structure as I want to, instead of forcing these thingsinto a structure I find limiting. I find English very limiting; it is myprimary language and yet, I often feel restricted in its use. Poetry allows meto break out of restriction and communicate more creatively and accurately. Istarted to write poetry at the same time I learned to write; my father, who is alsoa poet, influenced me. I spent hours in my father’s office with a computer thathad a black screen and green letters, just creating. I went to college at firstfocused initially on Creative Writing. My studies bridged into disabilityconstructs, counseling and along the way, I fell in love with American SignLanguage (ASL).

 My initial experience with ASL was likefinding a new lung. I felt like I could breathe in ways I had never before. Istarted to sign when I was stressed, and it helped even if no one in the roomunderstood me. I had noticed that at times when I was very passionate aboutsomething, my hands would chime in. I found my dreams becoming more interactive,and less like I was just watching a movie. It felt like my mind was rewired. Iconnected with deaf culture, and started to dream in sign.  My hands became a conduit forcommunication, and I felt a freedom that can only be compared with poetry. Allof my previous attempts at a second language had failed. I wish I had discoveredASL in childhood.  

WhenI first performed my ASL poem in the spoken word community, it was the perfectmeeting of two of my worlds. When I got on stage and moved the microphone outof the way in order to perform, I felt this exhilaration like riding a bikewithout training wheels. Leaving my spoken words behind, moving everything outof the way, and speaking with my hands, was the most pure performance I’ve everdone. Language through movement seems to be a pure expression, like dance.  Dancing with my hands and face, andlistening with my eyes, feels more natural at times than speech.

Today,I do not see myself as having something wrong with me. It is through poetry,through my studies at the University of Arizona, and ASL that I was able toreconnect within myself. There is a line in my ASL poem that rings very true tomy overall experience in English; it goes, “There are countries inside me thatwords cannot capture.” It was the perception of others, the limiting andrestricting design of schools/education, and the assumptions of mass-producedmedia which disabled me. And it was also myself—I disabled myself bybuying into it all.  I’m so gratefulfor the freedom and growth which I have had through ASL, Disability Studies,poetry and the love and support of my friends and family.