Random Speculations on the World

An Experiment in Tone

I admit, I am guilty of putting question marks at the end of statements. It always seemed like the most polite thing to do. But lately I fully realized that the stigma of a woman actually showing confidence is a stupid cultural power play. I’d known this intellectually for a long time, but I’d never really formed an opinion on the matter. It was more of an interesting aspect of the world I lived in.

So now, deciding it was an absolutely stupid thing, I’ve changed the way I’ve worded my emails (not all of them at the moment, just the ones relating to school). I still have a lot of verbal instances where question marks happen, but verbal habits won’t change without my thinking habits changing first.

I’ve had interesting results. People are more straightforward, more blunt. Part of me finds this upsetting. The other part of me finds it extremely satisfying. Of course, that could be partly because I was finally able to get the override I needed. A week-long event of being directed elsewhere is pretty annoying. :p

(I contacted Placement Testing, was redirected to Advisement, and again to Admissions, and again to Registration. Oh, how I long to actually go back to the school I’m used to.)

And now, after this ill-fated practice in writing without editing, I will go to bed.

Everyone I talk to seems to think that being on medication = being functional. Which is partially true, I guess. The meds help me get up in the morning, go to school and study. I still sleep a lot, but I’ve got the energy to do more than watch scary shows with minimal romantic subplot on Netflix. I’m reading, I’m following a (very basic) schedule, I’m writing again. I’m doing excellent in my class, and I’m even working on a new project.

What people don’t seem to understand is that being on medication doesn’t change everything. I still have days when I can’t get out of bed. I still have nights where I can’t get to sleep. Most importantly, I still hate to do the things I hated to do before my depression. I still hate going to family birthday parties. I’m still introverted. I still have social anxiety. I still hate to talk to people. I’m still dealing with the friend issues I’ve been working on for going on two years now. I still hate to clean. For some reason, people equate taking medication with suddenly being willing to do things I dislike, even though I’ve never liked doing it. It’s made worse by the fact that I’m home most days of the week.

Of course, it isn’t helped by my inability to find a therapist. Everyone who takes my insurance is booked. Though, even when I was seeing someone, my mom seemed to think that I was supposed to just get better right away.

I understand that it’s frustrating for people when I have bad days or when I don’t have any willingness to do what they want. But do they have any idea how frustrating it is for me when they equate it all with laziness and say I’m taking advantage of them and if only I would just do something, then they wouldn’t think I was pretending to have depression for attention. Yes, because I want to have days when I just can’t get the energy get up in the morning.

I already think I’m just a lazy asshole who’s good for absolutely nothing and who’s doomed to be alone forever. So how the hell do you think I feel when you call me lazy and point out every problematic decision or indecision I’ve ever had in the past six months?

WTF

Why the hell does the SUNY Chancellor need a $200,000 raise? She already has a base pay of over $400,000, and she gets a large pension from Ohio. What the fuck?! You raise SUNY tuition, crack down on who actually is able to get aid from the school, and for what? So we can pay for that kind of raise?

What the fuck is going on here? Do you just get off on making it harder for students to actually get an education?

Fifty Shades of YES

Yes, I know, really cheesy crappy title. BUT LOOK! LOOK WHAT CAME IN THE MAIL TODAY!

mms_picture

I have been waiting for this book to be delivered by the post office since yesterday, when it actually arrived there. The book behind it is Carl Zimmer’s Parasite Rex, for those wondering. It’s an ILL, it’s about parasites, and it is EXCELLENT.

I can’t fucking talk to my dad about anything anymore. He’s absolutely convinced that whatever I say, I must be wrong. Why? Because I’m younger and get my news from different sources. He called it “idiot news” tonight, and claimed that “there are facts you can’t possibly know about the [Ferguson] case.”

I’ve been following the case pretty intensely. I know the stories behind the information he claims must be true–because it comes from a cop. What the hell don’t I know about it that he does? I’m not saying I know everything. But everything he’s talking about has been dismissed by pretty much everyone because it completely contradicts all witnesses and video evidence.

When the hell did my dad get to be like this? He didn’t used to be that way. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even point out a simple fact. He doesn’t bother listening to proof. He hates it when I try. I got hilariously “grounded” that last time we had a disagreement. Who cares if I’m younger? I can read. I can understand things. Yet to him, I’m too stupid to understand anything he talks about.

I know I have self-esteem issues. I constantly think I’m stupid. But when you blatantly insult my intelligence, that shit’s going to get ugly. I may consider myself to be stupid, but that doesn’t mean you can get away with calling me stupid. ESPECIALLY without proof of the fact. “I’m older so I know everything” does not, never has and never will constitute valid evidence.

Dare to fucking treat me like a person. Support your thesis.

One of the things I hate the most is where somebody will insist their response is the only one possible. Take my complaints about learning how to drive, for example. At the time, I was concerned about getting back and forth from places without having to rely on the Greyhound bus system (my school is in the middle of nowhere–the nearest city is over an hour away and has no cheap and reliable transportation to places outside the city). I was looking forward to a summer spent working full time and taking two time-consuming classes, and I was pretty much having an anxiety attack over the fact that I wouldn’t have any time to learn to drive.

Suitemate’s response? Make time. That’s what she had to do when she learned to drive, after all (she was sixteen).

A reply like this–and there was much arguing around it–is something I found extremely insensitive. Here I was clearly having an anxiety attack, and the only response she insists is appropriate is one that makes it ten times worse. She had no answer as to exactly how I should make time, or what time I had to spend learning how to drive, or how in the world I was actually going to get ahold of a car. Those were all my problems, she decided. The only useful advice she could give was “make time,” which she absolutely insisted was the only possible response. Nothing more was needed.

Regardless of the fact that she only managed to make my anxiety about the issue ten times worse. Regardless of the fact that this and other similar statements contributed greatly to my decision to stop speaking to her about things in my life. She spoke to me some time later about feeling as if she had to walk on eggshells around me. How the hell did she think I felt?

Fast forward to a week or so ago. One of my friends tells me to clean up my college stuff–it’s all in the living room because there is currently no other place to put it. I responded that I was working on it, but that most of it has nowhere to go. Her response: find room. When I continued to tell her that most of this stuff did not actually come from my room and so really doesn’t have anywhere other than a dorm room to be, she responded with “I don’t care. Find room.” She then proceeded to say that she was going to come over one day and we were going to clean it all up. When I told her that it doesn’t work like that for me–I can’t focus on things I’m not interested in and have to do them in five or ten minute intervals with long breaks in between, she responded with “Well, I’ll make you clean.”

I’m sorry, but something like this is more likely to make me stop what cleaning I’ve already been doing than make me more motivated. There is no way whatsoever that you can FORCE me to clean it all in one go–I will very likely fall asleep and will argue with you when you go to wake me up. Things like this will probably also make me stop talking to you for a long time.

The thing I don’t get is that my friend is huge into making sure people feel comfortable, making sure their needs are heard and met whenever possible. Yet when I try to explain my needs in this particular case, she responds with deeply insensitive remarks. I don’t think I’m being crazy. I legitimately cannot focus on a task I’m not invested in for more then fifteen minutes at a time at the most. I’ve never been able to get interested in cleaning. It makes me insanely tired, and I often do fall asleep. With my depression, I find it even more difficult concentrate on such tasks. For a friend who’s known me very, very well for the past ten years or so, I find it difficult to think she would be so insensitive to the things I go through on a daily basis.

/rant

My outlines are giving me more motivation to write than when I try to write without them. This has never happened before. Hm. Let’s see where this goes.

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