Me lazy? No its something deeper ✨️

A Life That Looked Like Laziness Until It Didn’t

For most of my life, I thought the problem was simple.

I was depressed.

I didn’t like homework.

I struggled to explain myself.

I got tired easily.

I didn’t fit.

Those explanations were easy to live with because they were familiar. They were also wrong.

This is a window scan — not a diagnosis, not a defense, not a performance — but a clear look at my life as it actually unfolded when all the pieces are placed together instead of isolated, minimized, or explained away.

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Early Years: The Signs That Were Already There

I was an IEP student starting in Pre-K.

That alone tells a story, even though no one ever sat me down and explained what it meant. I needed accommodations early. Structure didn’t come naturally. Processing information took more effort. Language — spoken and written — didn’t flow the way it did for other kids.

I was often late.

I struggled with transitions.

I needed external reminders and scaffolding just to keep up.

None of this was new. None of it appeared suddenly in adulthood.

But because I could sometimes perform well, the struggle was treated as optional — like effort could fix it.

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School: Honor Roll and Collapse, Side by Side

This is the part that confused everyone, including me.

Sometimes my grades suffered badly.

Other times I made honor roll.

From the outside, that looks like inconsistency or lack of motivation.

From the inside, it looked like this:

When structure was clear, stress was low, and fatigue hadn’t hit yet, I could excel.

When instructions were verbal, multi-step, rushed, or stacked on top of each other, my brain would stall.

When exhaustion set in, everything collapsed at once.

Grades measured output. They never measured the cost.

I didn’t succeed because things were easy.

I succeeded by overexerting myself — until I couldn’t.

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Communication: “You Don’t Make Sense”

I’ve always had difficulty expressing myself.

Not because my thoughts were empty, but because the translation layer between my inner world and the outside world was unreliable.

I struggle with:

producing certain sounds in speech

retaining spoken information

organizing thoughts in real time

writing in ways others easily follow

People told me I didn’t make sense — even when I used proper punctuation, even when I tried to fix it.

That repeated message did real damage. It made me feel insane, like reality itself wasn’t lining up.

What I understand now is this:

My thoughts made sense. My output didn’t always carry them intact.

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Learning to Express Myself — and Being Misunderstood Anyway

At some point, I learned how to express myself.

Not because the disability disappeared, but because I adapted. I found language that matched me.

That’s when another strange thing happened.

Even when I could communicate clearly, people still said:

> “This doesn’t make sense.”

Especially when I wrote openly. Emotionally. Without sugar coating.

My spirit blog isn’t meant to be linear or instructional. It’s symbolic. Honest. Heart-on-sleeve.

And that scares people.

Sometimes “this doesn’t make sense” doesn’t mean confusion — it means discomfort.

That distinction matters.

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Cognitive Load: Confusion, Dropouts, and Re-Reading

As demands increased, I noticed things I hadn’t had words for before.

I get confused easily.

My thoughts stop mid-thought.

Steps disappear unless I reread them — often multiple times.

Spoken information goes in one ear and gets lost.

I listen. I care.

I just can’t retain it reliably.

This isn’t occasional. It’s structural.

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The Body: Fatigue, Pain, and Unpredictability

My body adds another layer.

Mixed sleep issues: hypersomnia, insomnia, non-restorative sleep

Random crashes that force long naps

Near-syncope and collapse if I don’t rest

Unexplained arm tremors

Intermittent hand cramping

Chronic knee and ankle pain that affects how I walk

Vision impairment requiring glasses

Severe mold allergy affecting my airways

Chronic sinus infections that disrupt sleep and cognition

None of these alone define my life.

Together, they make reliability impossible.

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The Mistake I Made — and Why It Makes Sense

For a long time, I thought:

> “I’m just depressed and I don’t like homework.”

That explanation fit the information I had.

No one told me:

depression can result from disability

intelligence doesn’t cancel impairment

fluctuating ability is still disability

needing rest doesn’t mean weakness

trying harder doesn’t fix executive dysfunction

So I blamed myself.

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Adulthood: When Systems Don’t Catch What Was Always There

As an adult, I applied for disability.

I was honest. I said I got confused. I said I couldn’t regulate emotions under stress. I said I couldn’t keep a schedule. I said I couldn’t retain information.

I was denied.

Not because it wasn’t real — but because the system didn’t translate my reality into functional terms. No consultative exam. No integration. Just checkboxes.

It felt like proof I was wrong about myself.

It wasn’t.

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What the Window Scan Shows

When everything is viewed together, a pattern emerges:

Lifelong neurodevelopmental disability

Learning disability documented since early childhood

Speech, language, and processing impairments

Cognitive overload and confusion across reading and listening

Emotional regulation difficulties under stress

Severe fatigue and physical variability

Inability to sustain attendance, pace, or reliability

This isn’t a personal failure.

It’s a system mismatch.

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The Quiet Truth

I wasn’t lazy.

I wasn’t broken.

I wasn’t imagining it.

I was disabled — and adapting — in a world that kept telling me the problem was motivation.

Seeing that clearly doesn’t fix everything.

But it does something important.

It gives the story back to me.

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