My feet are tapping a mile a minute, uncontrollably. The beating of my own heart is becoming unbearable; I wouldn't be surprised if it hopped out of my chest and sprinted away from my school desk. The dated wallpaper is peeling off the wall one panel at the time and, the cliché posters are distracting me from what is coming ahead.  I look at the joyful students printed on the faded posters, and I wonder how could they be so hopeful, or even cheerful in such an environment.  I glance down at my slightly crumpled paper and try to block out the embarrassing emotions soon to come. Words are my worst enemy; they have been for as long as I can remember.

When I was enrolled in preschool, I hated reading books. I would much rather look at the pictures. Flash forward to kindergarten, I was the last to learn how to read. In first grade I was known as the “troubled girl”.  I know my brain is peculiar, I call it a glitch, the wiring in my head malfunctions when I attempt to read. When I look at the page, the letters look like squiggles written in various languages.  The letters are upside down, backwards and twisted in every which way.  Any time I have to read in front of a crowd, or even my teachers is a massacre of humiliation. I have come to a disheartened realization, dyslexia is my darkside.  My thoughts are interrupted by the voice of my teacher, “Now, lets see…” Don’t call my name, please don't say it. Her stare falls upon me, in a fake
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smile she obnoxiously says,  “It’s your turn, good luck.”  My heart drops down to my toes and a million emotions fell upon me all at once. I shuffle my feet across the worn floorboards up to the podium, with 31 pairs of eyes  blankly staring at me. My worst nightmare is coming true, I can already see the humiliation. With no choice in the matter I start to read, words attempt to come out. Words flow out of my mouth as if my voice is a waterfall of all the wrong things.  I hear giggles sprouting around the room. I say my last word, realizing I had lost the battle against my enemy. I can only hear the sound of crickets when I sit back down, mortified.

I have decided that this is never going to happen again; I am determined. Long nights were spent at my cluttered desk upstairs in my room. Repeating words over and over trying to drill them into my head. I will not lose another battle, I will come out of the next battle victorious.  Luckily for me, I have another chance to prove myself and abilities.  In class, I stand up with only confidence rushing through me and march my way to the front of the room. I can already hear the laughs and see smirks but, this time around, the waterfall of words that fell from my mouth were only filled with  the right things.  For most in that class, it is not a big deal but, for me getting the few words right meant the world to me. I now do not shy away from the opportunity to show off my new skills. I am not ashamed of my past struggles nor am I about the future ones to come. Yes, dyslexia is my darkside, but I am the only one who has the power to enlighten it.