Thursday, November 26, 2009

Illusions of Grandeur

There's just something about me that screams "rebel." If I show you the me at my messiest self... I must clean up my room the next day and show you proof that I can live in something other than complete squalor.

Actually, there's method to my madness. If you look by the computer, you can see a large stack of books. Those are 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.... 17 books I just got between today and yesterday that I absolutely cannot bear to display and use (for my end of term essays) without knowing that they aren't going to get lost in my room.

No, that's not true. I'm really one of those people who has to like clean everything before she gets down to the dirty deed of doing work. There's something oddly gratifying about housework. Maybe that's why I let my room get so filthy before I clean it all up?


Maybe I should clue you all in on what I'm actually going to be doing one of my term papers on? No, I have something else I want to talk about today. I'll talk about the term paper another time. Remind me about the term paper though... it actually is important!


I went into the A&E (ER for you Yankies HAR HAR) after getting sexually assaulted and I was pretty shaken up. Like I was pulling out my own hair, shaken up (which is pretty shitty now that I look back on it, because my hair is considerably less asymmetrical now that I take a good look... which was the look I had going for me). Had a long drawn out conversation with this ridiculous "crisis team" [seriously, ever single fucking day I learn that the UK system and the US system of health care are like god damn apples and oranges mind-fucking-blowing] and the lead guy was this really intense Jamaican man. Now I don't feel bad for singling him out as Jamaican because he was one of those guys who was obviously super proud of being a Jamacian export. He had no less than 3 pieces of jewelry (ring, bracelet, necklace) with a Jamaican flag, so I found this humorous.

What was the point? Oh yes. So during this long-drawn out conversation that numerous times led to "What do you want us to do for you?" At which point I always want to scream "FUCKING FIX ME OR JUST KILL ME NOW!" There was one point where I'm-refraining-from-going-to-every-cultural-stereotype-I-can-think-of-to-call-this-guy-but-it's-hard-not-to-go-there! is like "Oh I don't know that you really need the Crisis Team right now, since you're high functioning."


I just told you that I can't take the Underground because I'm afraid I'll step in front of the train but I mostly refrain myself because I don't want other people to see that and be scarred and as fucked up as I am. And there's a pile of my hair... A PILE... of my hair on the floor.

So later they offer to drive me home since pretty much that's all they can offer to do other than tell me to come back to A&E if I want to kill myself (great help, kthnkxbi) and the woman who is like the Robin to the Jamaican Batman turns to me and says "So how long have you been here and how long are you staying?"

"Oh.... um, I got here end of September and I'll be here about a year."

*Dead Silence and then...* "Oh no hun. You've only been here two months and you're already having so many problems! You poor thing!"

UH YEAH! High functioning my ass.


But then it made me think. I've never really attributed that term to myself. High/low functioning has been something that people like my autistic cousin get labeled with because there's all these complicated factors and usually other people involved. Who will look after them when their parents die? Can they take care of themselves? Who will support them? Can they hold down a job? Legal issues legal issues jargon jargon blah blah boring I'm bored.

That doesn't really seem like me. But I guess sometimes it seems like things that affect me sometimes counter one another. I will spend all of my semester in bed, but blow me down if I will allow myself to drop out of school. That would mean failure (for me)... that is unacceptable. I will sleep in until that last minute possible and then I will wear myself raw to achieve what I have to, to get it done. BUT, I don't live in a vacuum, my success largely relies on other people. BUT, I am also aware that some of my biggest faults are also aspects to my greatest strengths. SO am I high functioning?

Are we even talking about the right spectrum, or is there some other range or category that better applies?


In case you wonder: the starkness of the room is not my choice, the management has very strong opinions about sticking things to the painted surfaces and I rebelled but for some reason my tape didn't even stick... so God was telling me it wasn't worth the fine I suppose. So I guess I'm going for a bland mashed potatoes look until the end of Spring!


Lulu said...

haha i tell you your room looks like mine and straight away you tidy it!

that sounds intense and horrible with the guy and the whole messy affair. I'm sorry you had to deal with that. And i'm sorry you arent getting the help you ask for.

I suppose while they class you as high functioning then theyve by proxy classed you as not needing their help as badly...

I hope your motivation has carried forth past your bedroom.

and where do you think you come on the 'functioning' scale then? xx

Anonymous said...

I just found your blog and it's one of the few that I can truly say I've enjoyed reading... possibly b/c I seem to think like you, plus your whit is great!

I feel you on the room sitch (situation). I do the same thing and can't accomplish ANY amount of studying if my room is a fail!

It's weird I stumbled onto your site and happened to read this (along with your other posts). Being sexually assaulted is DIFFICULT DIFFICULT AND FK'G DIFFICULT to deal with. I was thinking about the ppl who surrounded me, during my post-assualt situation. I don't think it's a race thing as much as it's a dumb SHLONG way of thinking. MEN DON'T GET IT!!! I had this one doc (old white man) who after much support from various females, proceeded to tell me
*DR "well, did you report it?"
*ME 'no, I just wanted to forget about it, but I'm freaking out and need you to prescribe me some Xanex before I move, otherwise I may not make it.'
*DOC "Well, I think you need some help"
*ME 'ya, that's why I'm here and why I'm moving back home, but in the meantime I ran out of Xanex so can you pls write me a prescription.'

After that everything he said just kind of faded. I started crying b/c I wanted so badly to punch him in the face, but knew I needed to stay calm so I'd get the prescription. What a fk'g douchebag!

Anyhow, I know your post is old but the wounds can stay for a long time. Of course, for me it just added to my difficult battle w/self and food. Sometimes it's good, other times not so much, but 4yrs later and the assault is mostly behind me. The ED always with me.

Stay strong chicky!

design by