Graphite is in my blood

Dysgiraffeia

At the age of four, I was running up the stairs with a pencil and tripped. I impaled my left hand (not all the way through) and once the graphite hit my blood I guess, it never left.  I dreamed of becoming a writer, but as I went through elementary school, my teachers all had a similar complaint: my handwriting was terrible. Writing became something I hated ever since my 3^rd grade cursive drills, all those swirls and loops is bound to make anyone seasick (they should have had a life preserver listed as things required for the class). My teachers told me that I should never pursue writing. After the fourth grade, low and behold, I was diagnosed with Dysgraphia and I thought the social worker said dysgiraffeia.

Dysgiraffeia is probably a very special giraffe with violet spots, an eye patch, and two wooden legs. Dysgraphia however is another beast entirely. Dysgraphia is this invisible bolt of pain that starts in the thumbs and slowly inches its way up your arms into your elbow, only if you write too much (thank goodness for typing). The tremors are constant, so when I hold a pen in my hand and pause to think, you would swear that some was taping out Morse code to a covert agent across the room. After being diagnosed, I was considered “special” even though I can communicate just fine. Somehow, I ended up in the Special Ed Trailer out on the sweltering asphalt my first day of middle school. I thought it was a mistake, but I do not believe in coincidences and it was there that my unusual fate was sealed. We had a teacher, but she was unfortunately transferred and replaced by a man that I swear looked like a werewolf with a very angular face and these deep cold cobalt blue eyes. The first thing he asked us to do was write an essay and I refused.

Its funny because I can read my normal handwriting just
fine, but when it comes to cursive I'm at a lose for words

During an epic battle of wits, he was on the ropes. After several negotiation attempts failed he asked,  “How do know that you don’t like writing if you haven’t tried it?  Just pick up the pencil and try. I don't care what you write, just write.” I also imagine that he secretly whispered, “There are pirates in the pages.” Although I’m pretty, sure that was a figment of my imagination. He handed my first wide ruled cherry red notebook and forced a pencil in my left hand. I looked down at the small barely distinguishable dent in my hand where the pencil made contact so many years ago. I took the pencil and began to write. My teacher taught me all the basics and told me to run with it. I don’t mean to boast, but 27 short stories and a 300-page novel later (worst book I ever wrote) I became prolific in writing. After my worst attempts, I began to develop my writing and continued to soar. Writing to me is a challenge that I enjoy because it is about overcoming obstacles, coming into your own, strengthening your skills, developing characters, and discovering who you are.