The problem is not so much that I don't have boundaries, but instead that I don't understand the boundaries that seem to come so easily for almost every one else. It's as if I'm autistic or somehow just was never taught, except that I'm not and I was.
And it seems easy, in my mind. If a person tells me something, I feel like I generally understand (except, in retrospect, I usually don't, but that's usually because I don't want to, and I'm normally pretty open about that). It's these goddamn hints I don't get! Passive aggressive actions just don't mean a thing to me. I am oblivious!
It's not intentional, either. I had a roommate who absolutely hated me for it, too. Before I found out that I'm allergic to cats, I was a kitty mommy. I was sad when I had to find a new home for him. Anyway, she decided that we had to each move out litter boxes into our bedrooms and out of the closets in the living room because they were stinking up the shared space. She was right. I was relieved, because she didn't clean her litter box as often as I did, and so it did improve the smell. But all she did was move her litter box. I didn't understand that this meant that I had to move my litter box as well.
Tangent from a tangent, I think John may have actually adopted that very same cat. It was pretty neat to have him back in my life.
I wonder about privacy, though. I have to be comfortable explaining to so many strangers so many intimate details just to get by that maybe lines start to blur there. Do I close my mouth when the white coat comes off?
But then I have the strangers who stare or comment or question. Are you cold? Are you sick? It's just that you're shaking What can I say? It's so much worse now that I've quit smoking, too. I never say anything at airport security, even though I get stopped every single time. How can you reassure someone when the only reason you are uncomfortable is the person pointing out their own discomfort?
I think if I was missing a body part people could silent and creatively invent stories, alternately staring and averting their eyes, depending on whether they thought I was paying attention. During the short period of time that I used a wheelchair, a child impressed me by asking sincerely if I was able to walk ever or if I needed to use my arms to get around when I couldn't use the chair. A middle aged man pushed me without asking permission, another older man told me to stop playing around, and a third man suggested we race. When I couldn't walk on stairs, people would jeer at me for taking an elevator down one floor, when the fact of the matter was I simply would fall if I tried.
The point is that I came to believe that no one can hurt me with the truth, and that this life I have experienced is not so rare or uncomfortable that it needs to be hidden. It's not so much that I'm looking to be understood as a person, but more that I'm a living example of a person with an invisible disability.
Which sounds horribly arrogant.
Would it really be so bad for people to think that I'm cold?
Anyway, I feel a strong desire for privacy, especially now that things are up in the air again. It is so difficult to understand the struggle from the outside that I wouldn't ask that from anyone. My writing just sounds sad and mopey.
Last night my mom told me to stop saying that I can't and start saying that I won't, which was one of the most frustrating things she could have ever asked me to do. I can't read because the words won't hold still. It's not. "I won't." I have a solution. I would far prefer to focus on solutions rather than semantics, as important as I believe words are. How can I explain that changing vocabulary doesn't make my eyes works together to my very own mother?
Right now I would just like a little peace. A little not having to have to explain. Requiem.
And it seems easy, in my mind. If a person tells me something, I feel like I generally understand (except, in retrospect, I usually don't, but that's usually because I don't want to, and I'm normally pretty open about that). It's these goddamn hints I don't get! Passive aggressive actions just don't mean a thing to me. I am oblivious!
It's not intentional, either. I had a roommate who absolutely hated me for it, too. Before I found out that I'm allergic to cats, I was a kitty mommy. I was sad when I had to find a new home for him. Anyway, she decided that we had to each move out litter boxes into our bedrooms and out of the closets in the living room because they were stinking up the shared space. She was right. I was relieved, because she didn't clean her litter box as often as I did, and so it did improve the smell. But all she did was move her litter box. I didn't understand that this meant that I had to move my litter box as well.
Tangent from a tangent, I think John may have actually adopted that very same cat. It was pretty neat to have him back in my life.
I wonder about privacy, though. I have to be comfortable explaining to so many strangers so many intimate details just to get by that maybe lines start to blur there. Do I close my mouth when the white coat comes off?
But then I have the strangers who stare or comment or question. Are you cold? Are you sick? It's just that you're shaking What can I say? It's so much worse now that I've quit smoking, too. I never say anything at airport security, even though I get stopped every single time. How can you reassure someone when the only reason you are uncomfortable is the person pointing out their own discomfort?
I think if I was missing a body part people could silent and creatively invent stories, alternately staring and averting their eyes, depending on whether they thought I was paying attention. During the short period of time that I used a wheelchair, a child impressed me by asking sincerely if I was able to walk ever or if I needed to use my arms to get around when I couldn't use the chair. A middle aged man pushed me without asking permission, another older man told me to stop playing around, and a third man suggested we race. When I couldn't walk on stairs, people would jeer at me for taking an elevator down one floor, when the fact of the matter was I simply would fall if I tried.
The point is that I came to believe that no one can hurt me with the truth, and that this life I have experienced is not so rare or uncomfortable that it needs to be hidden. It's not so much that I'm looking to be understood as a person, but more that I'm a living example of a person with an invisible disability.
Which sounds horribly arrogant.
Would it really be so bad for people to think that I'm cold?
Anyway, I feel a strong desire for privacy, especially now that things are up in the air again. It is so difficult to understand the struggle from the outside that I wouldn't ask that from anyone. My writing just sounds sad and mopey.
Last night my mom told me to stop saying that I can't and start saying that I won't, which was one of the most frustrating things she could have ever asked me to do. I can't read because the words won't hold still. It's not. "I won't." I have a solution. I would far prefer to focus on solutions rather than semantics, as important as I believe words are. How can I explain that changing vocabulary doesn't make my eyes works together to my very own mother?
Right now I would just like a little peace. A little not having to have to explain. Requiem.
