This one, I wrote about a month after being diagnosed. And it’s pretty much what I thought I would send to my eighth-grade social worker, who got my diagnosis wrong and how damaging that was. A few things are embellished and changed to protect the innocent, but pretty much this is something I wanted to send. So here it is: an autofiction letter from a recurring character, where things worked out better for him than they did for me.
Never
Dear Mrs. Wardener:
You may not remember me, but you were North Fairfield High School’s psychologist. You evaluated me for learning disabilities with one examination—the Wechsler—and determined that I had a non-verbal learning disability. This result wasn’t the challenging part. What you said after was:
“John will never be a good writer, student, a good husband, or hold steady employment.”
I walked out of your office after you said this.
What I did next was dedicate my days to proving you wrong. By my senior year of high school, I was a paid writer for the local newspaper. This got me into Syracuse University’s journalism school.
I moved to New York City and worked for five years before attending NYU to get my MFA in Fiction. I never acknowledged my disability or completed the paperwork for accommodations at NYU. I wanted to do it on my own. I didn’t think your assessment was accurate, considering the last thing you said to me. What kind of counselor would say something like that to a 13-year-old? Not a professional.
After graduation, I worked at Skidmore as an adjunct English professor, barely making more than the poverty line. I was promoted to Assistant Professor when a local press published a book of my stories. I met my wife here. I’ll post a novel this fall, and with tenure coming up, I stand an excellent chance at making this my job for the rest of my life.
You weren’t far off, though. An ex-girlfriend, seeing my struggles with anxiety and depression, and anger, wanted me to get re-evaluated. I was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, Attention Deficit Disorder-inattentive type, Depression, and Anxiety. My brother has ADHD, a combined class. It’s quite the cocktail. Non-verbal LD is the school clinician’s term for autism. It wasn’t a behavioral issue, so you didn’t test me for ADD. My brand of ASD wasn’t on the DSM-5 until you diagnosed me.
Believe it or not, I want to thank you. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. Was that the point? I am living my dream because of your poor word choices. I made a conscious decision never to do what you did. Choosing words poorly has consequences, Mrs. Wardener, and since you didn’t put your credentials on my diagnosis, I can only assume you were not credentialed to diagnose me in high school. How many students’ dreams were dashed by your words these last twenty-four years?
I’m grateful, though. Many of my struggles may have been avoided if you knew what you were talking about, but I may not have learned the lessons of perseverance and hard work to get where I am without you. Thank you for these lessons, and fuck you too.
Sincerely,
John Ferris
CC: Connecticut Board of Education.
It’s great that you were able to get this down in writing, although the person who gave you the wrong diagnosis may never read it. You did a great job (in proving her wrong)!!