I'm not angry. Instead, I'm laughing.

I’m not at all angry about the SPD (Sensory Processing Differences) misdiagnosis for all those years. I am laughing my butt off instead!

Now, I can literally walk up to those “experts” and tell them off!

I was seen by some very famous people who completely misdiagnosed me with their pet diagnoses. Oh, they were so, so certain that I had severe cases of whatever they thought would benefit their pocketbooks…..And told me so.

I was seen by some of these “experts” many years ago in their junior years. Some in their mid-years. Many have now risen to esteem and fame. I am sure they are living in mansions now, if they weren’t already, thanks to taxpayers, drug companies, institutions, and those in the unknowing public who fell prey to such diagnosis nonsense.

“Hey, dude, you were wrong.”

Does anyone know of any well-written blogs by people who have this? Most are riddled with spelling errors and too many colloquialisms.  You’d think an editor would tap these bloggers on the shoulder and say, “Hey, there’s a difference between “effect” and “affect.” I don’t mind informal language at all. I do mind totally incorrect grammar. An occasional typo might slip by even the most careful editor, but all-out sloppiness is annoying, at least to me.

Perhaps there aren’t too many of us.

Hey media, come find me.

SPD is not in the DSM, by the way, because psychiatry doesn’t profit from it. Just wait till they find a shiny pill for it and then it’ll be a whole new ball game. The umbrella will widen (just like ED’s umbrella) there will be scare tactics galore, early intervention and screening, expensive treatment centers, parity demands, and people talking baloney about stigma.

“Don’t blame me, I’m inferior and incapable!”

I don’t take that stance, which is why I don’t see Sensory Processing Differences as anything to recover from and when I go to these forums and read about people yapping about “how I recovered” somehow that makes no sense to me.

This is what I am figuring out: After nearly six decades of being wired the way I am, do I really want to re-wire to be like everyone else?

A long time ago, my parents bought a brand new station wagon. I believe this was a Ford. I recall the color. Diamond Blue. This was the color’s name. My mom was tickled by the name of that color, so she repeated it many times. It was a nearly white car, but not quite. Undoubtedly the car had a name my mom gave it, but I don’t recall its name.

It didn’t take long before Mom noticed that one white door, a back door, was not Diamond Blue, but a different shade of white. Maybe it was Puzzle-colored. Color de crema. After that, a family friend or someone, I don’t actually recall who it was, told my dad that the car’s engine was not the original engine. Both the car’s engine and one door had been replaced. The family friend told us that most likely what had been sold to us as “new” was certainly not new, but had been reconstructed following an accident and sold to us deceptively as new.


Please, someone call Ralph Nader. Oh dear, Ma Bell, reach out and touch Consumer Protection because Mom and Dad fell prey to a ripoff.

We were not alone, of course. This had happened to many. And it wasn’t the end of the world. I recall discussing the situation with Mom. We liked the car this way. Lopsided. Different. Unique. I know the dealer might have offered to repaint the door, but to my recollection we never took the guy up on the offer.

We liked our oddball Diamond-not-so-blue car just the way it was. I had read that these “split” cars can ultimately be a safety concern, but back in those days no one worried about such things.

Until we traded it in, Diamond-not-so-Blue served us fine. It was still a car. It still ran. And now it gives me plenty of material for amusing stories for the next generation and all of you.

Feedback and comments welcome!