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There are so many things I wish I could scream about. But I have this thing where I imagine the arguments in my head, I play the other person, I know just what they'd say, and because I suck at arguing and debating, I know I'd lose every time. So the screams die before they're born. Frustration fades, and I'm left wilted and salted wondering what I did wrong.
Learning to drive: I can't seem to make anyone really see, really understand. This is a pure terror. This isn't just a case of "You'll get over it; once you start you'll be fine." This is one of those true phobia situations, where the brain wails NO! and runs and hides. I keep having vicious nightmares where I have my permit and Adam's with me in the car, and I start the ignition--and then I start to panic and shake and can't stop, where the whole car rattles like my teeth, where it gets so violent I'm thrown into a full-blown grand mal seizure and my mouth is full of tongue-blood and I choke on my own saliva. And my dreams have come true before.
I know I'll have to do it. I won't have a choice. But what I don't need...please...what I do not not not need is everyone telling me I have to do it. I can't stand it when people say, "You should really learn how to drive, it'd be good for you, you wouldn't have to depend on other people..." Blah blah blah fuck you blah. I know. Okay? I know. I know I know I know. Please, for the love of god, stop it. Stop telling me. Why don't you say something else, like encouraging me to get behind the wheel when we're in an empty place? Why don't you show instead of tell? Be gentle. Be aware of how completely terrified I am of the sheer prospect of being out on the road, of suddenly forgetting the rules, or blacking out--and (gods forbid) hitting someone? And don't tell me you've tried that already, because I know you have. You all have. And I always said no, I wasn't ready. Because *gasp* guess what? I wasn't! Guess what? I'm still not! Guess what? I'll fucking let you know when I'm ready! I will lead you outside, take your keys, and say yes, I'm ready. Let's do this. But until that day...go easy.
You know what this really is? It's not a driving phobia. It's a fear of losing personal control. Driving is the bare bones. It's not the driving. It's the losing control and causing an accident, or being a victim. It's not just cars. It's rape. It's drowning. It's falling. Anything that involves me being completely unable to control what's happening to me. And don't tell me that I've lost control like that before, because I haven't. In those situation I had always known where I was. I may have not been mentally grounded, but I had control.
I love water, but I'm terrified of the deep. I'm scared of drowning. Never mind the fact that all I have to do is kick my legs and trad water and float. That's not the point.
That's not the point. Not the point. You're missing the point.
Do you know....do you know...how long it took for the doctors and therapists to work with me to get me where I am? The cerebral palsy is not in my mind. It is in my muscles and my nerves and the dead parts of my brain. And I fought all the way. I fought the doctors. My parents. Myself. The palsy. I fought to try and ignore it all, because I wanted to be normal. I just...wanted to be normal.
So I fought.
I learned how to be as passive-aggressive as any human could. I learned to force my crippled body to move the way everyone else was moving, even though it hurt. I tried to snatch the power from the therapists' hands ("I can do it! Let me do it! Go away!") and when I tripped and fell I gritted my teeth through the tears and ignored the therapists, ignored the weak muscles. I refused to acknowledge that there was anything wrong with me. And yet my hands shook. My legs trembled. My feet splayed and I stumbled and limped and they made me wear weights on my ankle and my wrist. A plastic leg brace. Weight shift.
Stop. Please.
It's not like that anymore. But part of me is perfectly aware that that tangled mass of synapses and neurons and nerves is still deeply afflicted. That too much concentration and anxiety could make something snap and I could slip into what has been called seizures; frankly I don't know what they are. But I refuse to submit the world to that. I refuse to take into my hands the lives of all those people out on the road who might be hit by me. I'm not ready.
I...me...I....I'm the one who needs to talk to me. Not you. Not anyone. So you all can drive. Well, yay for you. So I can't drive. Boo for me. So you think I'm so limited because I have to depend on you for transportation, and at any time you can just say no, I won't drive you anywhere, you can bloody well walk, you little whimpering skinny bitch. It's your problem; it's your fault; why should we be part of it? Who the hell are you?
Who the hell am I indeed?
Who the hell am I?
See? I know all of this. I know how it works. I know how you see me. I know I need to work this out. I know.
I know.
I FUCKING KNOW, OKAY?
*buries head*
*internal scream*
(can you make it stop hurting?)
Learning to drive: I can't seem to make anyone really see, really understand. This is a pure terror. This isn't just a case of "You'll get over it; once you start you'll be fine." This is one of those true phobia situations, where the brain wails NO! and runs and hides. I keep having vicious nightmares where I have my permit and Adam's with me in the car, and I start the ignition--and then I start to panic and shake and can't stop, where the whole car rattles like my teeth, where it gets so violent I'm thrown into a full-blown grand mal seizure and my mouth is full of tongue-blood and I choke on my own saliva. And my dreams have come true before.
I know I'll have to do it. I won't have a choice. But what I don't need...please...what I do not not not need is everyone telling me I have to do it. I can't stand it when people say, "You should really learn how to drive, it'd be good for you, you wouldn't have to depend on other people..." Blah blah blah fuck you blah. I know. Okay? I know. I know I know I know. Please, for the love of god, stop it. Stop telling me. Why don't you say something else, like encouraging me to get behind the wheel when we're in an empty place? Why don't you show instead of tell? Be gentle. Be aware of how completely terrified I am of the sheer prospect of being out on the road, of suddenly forgetting the rules, or blacking out--and (gods forbid) hitting someone? And don't tell me you've tried that already, because I know you have. You all have. And I always said no, I wasn't ready. Because *gasp* guess what? I wasn't! Guess what? I'm still not! Guess what? I'll fucking let you know when I'm ready! I will lead you outside, take your keys, and say yes, I'm ready. Let's do this. But until that day...go easy.
You know what this really is? It's not a driving phobia. It's a fear of losing personal control. Driving is the bare bones. It's not the driving. It's the losing control and causing an accident, or being a victim. It's not just cars. It's rape. It's drowning. It's falling. Anything that involves me being completely unable to control what's happening to me. And don't tell me that I've lost control like that before, because I haven't. In those situation I had always known where I was. I may have not been mentally grounded, but I had control.
I love water, but I'm terrified of the deep. I'm scared of drowning. Never mind the fact that all I have to do is kick my legs and trad water and float. That's not the point.
That's not the point. Not the point. You're missing the point.
Do you know....do you know...how long it took for the doctors and therapists to work with me to get me where I am? The cerebral palsy is not in my mind. It is in my muscles and my nerves and the dead parts of my brain. And I fought all the way. I fought the doctors. My parents. Myself. The palsy. I fought to try and ignore it all, because I wanted to be normal. I just...wanted to be normal.
So I fought.
I learned how to be as passive-aggressive as any human could. I learned to force my crippled body to move the way everyone else was moving, even though it hurt. I tried to snatch the power from the therapists' hands ("I can do it! Let me do it! Go away!") and when I tripped and fell I gritted my teeth through the tears and ignored the therapists, ignored the weak muscles. I refused to acknowledge that there was anything wrong with me. And yet my hands shook. My legs trembled. My feet splayed and I stumbled and limped and they made me wear weights on my ankle and my wrist. A plastic leg brace. Weight shift.
Stop. Please.
It's not like that anymore. But part of me is perfectly aware that that tangled mass of synapses and neurons and nerves is still deeply afflicted. That too much concentration and anxiety could make something snap and I could slip into what has been called seizures; frankly I don't know what they are. But I refuse to submit the world to that. I refuse to take into my hands the lives of all those people out on the road who might be hit by me. I'm not ready.
I...me...I....I'm the one who needs to talk to me. Not you. Not anyone. So you all can drive. Well, yay for you. So I can't drive. Boo for me. So you think I'm so limited because I have to depend on you for transportation, and at any time you can just say no, I won't drive you anywhere, you can bloody well walk, you little whimpering skinny bitch. It's your problem; it's your fault; why should we be part of it? Who the hell are you?
Who the hell am I indeed?
Who the hell am I?
See? I know all of this. I know how it works. I know how you see me. I know I need to work this out. I know.
I know.
I FUCKING KNOW, OKAY?
*buries head*
*internal scream*
(can you make it stop hurting?)
