7-9-2017

A second list for the psychiatrist: in People suck. Cats are awesome. Dogs are alright.

•  July 9, 2017, 3:18 p.m.
 
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• Public

General weirdness about me:

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Definitely tell the psychiatrist:

I’ve never had more than one or two friends, (in real life); ever, at any point in my life.

Every, (and I do mean every), job or school I’ve ever been at, I am the target of bullying. Sometime in my twenties I started saying mean things back, because f!@# that.

I need things to be neat. As in, in organized rows, or it drives me crazy. I even line up the seams on my chapstick tube when I close it. I’ve always done that.

I “W sit”. Always have. If I’m in a chair, at least one of my feet is under me.

When I’m at home, I do often rock.

I never know what to do with my hands. They’re usually in a weird position if I’m not doing anything with them. In public I always keep ahold of something to hide that.

The idea of getting pregnant and giving birth has always confused and terrified me. Confused as in: Why the hell would anybody want to do that? And terrified as in: All through high school and my early twenties I saw pregnancy as some kind of horrible disease to avoid at all costs.

I have an extremely sensitive digestive tract. I was diagnosed with constipation predominant irritable bowel syndrome when I was in high school; but there are a lot of foods that give me horrible cramps and diarrhea, and shellfish make me vomit. A lot.

I weigh 117 lbs, and that’s the most I’ve ever weighed in my life. From high school, until a few years ago, (when I presume my hormones started to shift), I weighed about 95 lbs. - When I was a kid my dad took me to doctors because he thought I was malnourished. There weren’t a lot of things that I would eat, and most nights, after dinner, my mom wouldn’t let me leave the table until I finished what was on my plate. (F@#$ you, old lady. Green beans aren’t that f!@#ing important!)

I have my own room, separate from Don’s, because his snoring wakes me up. That started around 2009, when I’d leave the bedroom to sleep on the couch; but now we have enough rooms that I just have my own. Plus his messes drive me crazy, and I hate his cigarette smoke.

I can’t go anywhere by myself and expect to get there on time, because I get too distracted by things and overloaded from having to deal with people. The last time I tried to walk to an appointment alone, even with a Google map, I wound up several blocks in the wrong direction before I realized where I was, and it was too late to go back and make it on time. - I was too busy looking at the trees, and the signs, and the weird stuff on the edge of the road, (how many gas caps got lost on the street?), to notice I was going to wrong way until it was too late. - But it’s more than that, because I get lost in raids, too. My dear, sweet, GM had some poor sap assigned to show me the way back every time I died. Facepalm. (Hats off for Che, she’s an exceptional human being. And I gave her several mounts and pets for her trouble.)

I’m very temperature sensitive. Even with the propranolol, I get shakey and dizzy if I get too hot, to the point that I can’t function properly.

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Maybe tell the psychiatrist:

When I was kid I hated “girl” toys. I loved, (and still like), dinosaurs, and insects. I collected rubber worms, as in fishing lures, when I was little. I liked the way they felt, and they come in multitudinous pretty colors, and my mother is deathly afraid of them. Multiple positives.

I was reading at a Freshman, (ninth grade), level, in fifth grade. (My mother always said, “But you’re so smart!”; as if it confounded her that I could be so well read and yet so socially and emotionally dense.

My mother also often said that I have no common sense. She says “You’re so immature! You’ve got no common sense!”. (Again, screw you, old lady. You’ve got no common decency or tact.)

I like string lights. Like a lot. My room has four strings of them, strung around the walls. - I’m also extremely fond of the feel of microfiber bath mats and car washing mitts, to the point that I sleep with one.

I cannot wear scratchy clothes. Everything I own is either satin, silk, or some rayon or polyester blend. (Well, except for my socks, obviously, and they drive me crazy. I hate them.)

Occasionally, I’ve been asked weird questions; like at my last job. My manager came up to me when I was working, and softly said, “Are you always like this?” And I said, “Uh, yeah?” (As in, how else would I be, moron?), and she said, “Why?”; and not knowing at the time, I said “I dunno. Chemical imbalance in the brain?”. - But I mean I NEVER KNEW WHY. It’s like I’ve gone through my entire life with an invisible “Kick Me” sign on my back. And all it got me was perpetually treated like crap, for no apparent reason, so of course I hate people now.