On Disability, the Invisible Kind

In my last post, I described how my shortsightedness caused people to cast aspersions on my nature and general demeanor. But my limited eyesight was only one part of the equation, for recently I also got a confirmed diagnosis of ADHD. I had struggled with it since childhood but didn't know something like it existed until I began studying in the U.S. Around 2009, I self-diagnosed with moderate to severe ADD (the H factor is rather non-existent in my case), and used tools to manage it. Planners, labels, timers were all a means to function effectively without medication, but these tools are also limited by the ability and will of the user. 

I remember taking furious notes during undergrad and grad classes in India, notes so detailed that mine were the ones our entire class used to prep for the exams. Only later did I realize that I took notes because it was the only way I could retain my attention in class. Without notetaking, my mind wandered in all directions in a second. 

I also learned that much of my weird behavior and social inadeptness stems from my ADD. For instance, I had the annoying habit of talking over people, one that I didn't even realize I had. I am sure people took me to be inattentive and lacking etiquette on these occasions. But you see, like others with ADD, I was afraid of forgetting what I was going to say if I didn't say it right away. Only after I diagnosed myself, I looked up the symptoms and identified this trait as one of them. After that, I trained myself a) to let my thoughts simmer and b) that it was alright if I forgot what I was going to say in a casual conversation.

But I did bear the impact of ADD, for example, at conferences. During the Q&A at panels where I was presenting, I had a hard time getting my thoughts together, perhaps why I am a better writer than a speaker. My ADD also means I ramble (like here right now). But I can trim and curb my ramblings in my writing, something I can’t do while talking. ADD also means the emotions I experience are always heightened. I get extremely nervous and anxious to the point where my limbs turn stone cold. I also get excited and happy very easily. Fortunately, happy is my natural state, but heightened emotions also mean I experience hurt and sorrow just as deeply. All of this takes a toll, it affects how I go through everyday life (as I am sure others do too). Thankfully, I have family and friends who support me and love me unconditionally. It does make life easier when I am not living under the constant fear of being judged by those closest to me. But I also often wonder if it is my ADD that enables me to give zero fucks to the world. Perhaps.

But wait, I’m not done. I’m also hard of hearing. Ha, didn't see that coming, did you? It’s hereditary, and while I am largely functional now, I am sure I’ll need a hearing aid as I continue to age. Of course, I have a few stories to share about this too. I first realized I was hard of hearing when I got a cell phone, years ago. I realized I could hear better in one ear than the other. I often forget which of my ears is the good one, but there’s another layer to my deafness. Frequency. I am unable to make out clear words if spoken at a particular frequency, one which my partner V has (so annoying!) So I can’t hear at a certain volume if a person is speaking softly, but I have trouble if the voice of the speaker is deep and throaty. I can hear sounds but can’t make out the words. I used to get very annoyed at V initially. If he said something across the room in his regular timbre and volume, I wouldn’t be able to hear a word! Now he knows and modulates his volume and voice accordingly. 

A funny instance happened just two years ago when I was in a PTA meeting at my kid’s school in Plano, Texas. As a co-chair of the book fair committee, I was regular at attending the PTA meetings. At one such meeting, the principal gave a 15-20 min long update about something and I couldn't make out one single word. I wasn't across the room from her, and neither was she speaking too low. It was the sum total of it all, the distance, the volume, and the frequency. I’ve had conversations with her before, in person and in a group and I’ve never had any trouble, but that evening, all I heard was her voice. I couldn't make out one single word, not one, without any exaggeration. This disability is as debilitating as my vision and my ADD. It adds to the overall angst of being able to function effectively in a society run by capitalist notions of productivity. Often, it is the angst of my very existence and abilities. 

Many scholars of disability have brought attention to the idea that everyone is temporarily able-bodied. When I read it, it made complete sense to me, yet I’ve seen people express incredulity about this. 

But the truth of the statement is self-evident: one single accident, one single event, and/or aging can cause any body (literally) to become disabled. Able-bodiedness is temporary and yet all our social, economic, and political institutions are built around the myth of the able body. It’s time we accept and acknowledge that disability is the natural state of human existence. Ability is subjective, ability is different for different people, for despite these disabilities, I have pursued two doctoral programs and held teaching jobs. And my success has been contingent on my not disavowing my disabilities but identifying and working around them. 

Every single year I taught since 2009, I let my students know that I am hard of hearing in one ear and that if I don’t hear them, it’s not because I’m ignoring them or their questions, but because I didn’t hear them. I often requested my students to repeat themselves aloud so I could hear correctly. I also requested them not to interrupt me when I was teaching lest I should lose my train of thought. I asked them to write down any questions that might arise in their minds while I was speaking, so I could address them after I was done. I didn’t use the words ADD in the class to identify myself, but I explained my limitations to my students so both they and I could give our best during those 1-1.5 hours of class.  

But despite it all, my disabilities are just one aspect of me, just like my sexuality, gender, or racial identity. My disabilities are not what define me, but they contribute to the entirety of my being and identity. So too, in my writing, you will find characters with specific traits without being labeled or identified only through their disability. Hope you are excited about my weird and lovable characters. I promise you will fall in love with them.