The first time I knew I was dyslexic is when I was in 1st grade. I had a pretty good teacher. When I was reading I didn’t know what anything meant. When I did math I got low scores. I knew something was different about me, but I didn’t know what it was.
I got picked on in school. I felt like I was in a jail house. If I felt sad, mad, or bored I would go to the nurses office. There was 2 or 3 nurse seats, some stuffed animals and a sink. It was peaceful. To get to the nurses office I made up a reason to go to the nurses office. That was 1st grade for me.