In order to fulfill my duty of completing an essay of at least two hundred and fifty words, I have decided to write about a special occurrence in my life. Without coming off as an imbecile, I would like to reveal that I have dyslexia. Whatever the case may be, I cannot remember exactly when I came to the conclusion that I had this disability. Throughout school I can remember having difficulty reading children’s books, let alone chapter books. But where I lacked in reading, I made up for in the sciences. Experimenting with ideas and theories fascinated me as a child and even so to this day. One must be well-rounded, however, and that is why I took it upon myself to conquer my disability and grow academically.
Even though I am no longer an avid reader, I can now say that reading is no longer an obstacle. There are only rare occasions when I stoop back to my elementary days and have trouble reading certain words. I am not sure if it is just the kid still inside of me or if dyslexia can never truly be overcome. But I am not complaining. I have gone far since I first began noticing my hindrance and am thankful for those teachers that helped along the way. Specifically, I would like to thank my language arts teacher who first noticed my problem and suggested I see a doctor. Thanks to her I am now more cultured and aware of the history of literature and all it has to offer.