First of all, I should mention that I am rather germophobic, and feel the need to be clean at all times. My hands feel sticky? I will wash them 4 times in a half hour. An hour ago, my neighbor (9th grade) took me on a ride in his go-cart around our yards. It was amazing! It was exhilarating! I have always loved roller coasters (no doubt because of the vestibular input), but I was amazed at how much fun it was, even to be a passenger. We had some air time, which was awesome, and when I got out of the cart, my bare feet were filthy. I have not yet washed them. Progress!
My second item today requires some context. My story was about my first experience with my condition was when I was ten years old. Today's story happened almost ten years later, when I was 19 and a sophomore in college at DePaul University in Chicago. I had to take several business classes for my theatre & costuming major, one of which was called Business, Ethics, and Society. It was fascinating; I read Plato and Aristotle, studied parts of the Bible from a societal point of view, my professor was exceptionally engaging, and I wrote an 8 page paper on Martin Luther. As with most of my general education classes, we all tended to sit in the same seats every day, twice a week, for an hour and a half. The guy who always sat next to me, no matter how hard I tried to avoid him, caused me some issues, though he was not the only one.
My mother has always encouraged me to journal and write. My occupational therapist has recently been espousing the same philosophy, so that it will document my journey and progress. At the age of 19, one is less likely to follow the advice of one's mother, due to natural rebellion and wanting to live your own life away from your parents. However, I did follow her advice once during class. I was suffering through a particularly difficult day in class, and on a whim, decided to write. I wrote about what I was feeling and experiencing at that particular moment, in my state of fight or flight, and thankfully I saved it. I would like to share it, and will share the whole "transcript." I was agitated, and free-writing more than anything else (I can barely read my own handwriting) but since it is my only documentation of how I felt when I was experiencing sensory "attacks," I want to post it. Forgive the language and the grammer, for I copied it exactly, to the letter.
More context: I went to a conservatory theatre program for my bachelor's degree (Bachelor's of Fine Arts in Costume Technology), and all designers and technicians were required to take a class called Survey of Art, Architecture, Fashion, and Furniture. It was a year long course, and brutal in the amount of information we had to memorize, and we simply referred to it as "Survey." Secondly, my school was called The Theatre School at DePaul University, but as that is a long and cumbersome name, all the students and professors referred to it as "TTS."
"Observations, 9/29/08
The girl next to me was munching saltines. I decided it was an earplug day. The crinkling of the plastic and crunching of the crackers continued for twenty minutes, but only about ten crackers disappeared. Anorexic? My suspicions seem more plausable when I look over her shoulder to see a private trainer's page up on her laptop an hour later. And she really doesn't need to lose more weight. She also has this OBNOXIOUS cough that I hope means she has bronchitis or something because even the most seasoned smoker would be ashamed to vocalize that in public. Black lung, anyone? And she CAN'T STOP MOVING! Not just little foot movements, sways, her whole legs are bouncing all over the place. Apparently she is impatient to be back outside, burning more of the nonexistent cracker calories before they are fully digested. Clearly, she is number one annoyance today. I tried to go earplug - less for a little while today, but it just didn't work. Oh, now little foot sways. And the guy next to her. And done. He's a sniffler too. And back to foot movements. I don't understand why people are incapable of sitting still. There again! I want to reach over and make them sit still! I can't even cover my eyes with my hair sufficiently to block this out. I'll have to turn toward the wall completely. On ten seconds, off ten seconds. Over and over. Today is not as bad as sometimes. But class just is NEVER GOING TO END. It's like Survey, for fuck's sake. But in Survey it never mattered if I didn't pay attention. I actually want to pay attention. Here, I can't, due to the girl and the nose boy next to me and the girl in front of me, well, she was sniffing for awhile, and then she fell asleep. I don't know what it would be like now, she kinda woke up again, not like these 8 minutes are going to be worthwhile. I might just start glaring at people, they all think I'm kind of a strange nut anyways, TTS and all."
The guy who sat next to me day after day could not stop moving. He was always rubbing his face, his nose, itching his ears, chewing on pens, etc. One day (it may have been the same day), I became so frustrated and angry that I nearly ripped the pen out of his mouth. Instead, I took a 20 minute bathroom break (the class was only an hour and half). I paced the halls, trying to calm down, dreading the moment I had to return to the classroom. I did this frequently during my Survey class, using "bathroom breaks" to escape massively uncomfortable situations.
I did manage to graduate Cum Laude in June of 2010, almost a year ago. That is likely the accomplishment I am most proud of in my life so far. However, I do believe that the only reason I made it through those four years was because it was a conservatory program. I had 95% of my classes with my peers in TTS (scenic, lighting, and costume designers, and costume technicians and theatre technicians), and eventually, they learned that I was a little different. (I think) they liked and respected me as a person and a seamstress, so they tolerated my "quirks." I only had to take approximately 5 general education classes over my four years there, and those were the most difficult classes to get through. I dropped several due to people in the class or the professor. I almost took a leave of absence my senior year, due to my deteriorating condition and my also deteriorating depression, but I knew that if I left I would never come back. So I stuck it out, hard though it was (especially due to yet undiscussed friendship issues), and I graduated. I have a degree, very specific though it may be, and I am proud that I accomplished that. Even the smallest accomplishments need to be recognized and mentally praised, and graduation was a huge one. I completely understand those with my condition who do not have post-secondary eduation degrees, or those who acquired them later in life. I'm still astonished that I graduated a year ago, with honors.
Of course, I still struggle. I would love to take a pottery class but I am afraid of the other students, and what reactions they might evoke. I am pushing forwards a little bit every day, and I feel that this blog is a big step, like my graduation. I hope that those who share my condition understand what it is like.
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