Story of a Girl
So.. Renett, Elías, & Elízabeth were looking through some of my files, since they needed a specific document. I was in the room next door, replying to feedback that I neglected. Renett was the one to point this out to me...
Renett: Uh, 33?
Renett: Look. That file is 55.
Leó: Yeah, so?
Ellíe: Dipshit. It's so obvious.
Leó: WELL, EXCUSE ME FOR NOT UNDERSTANDING THE OBVIOUS. PEOPLE CAN'T BE AS SMART AS YOU--
Renett: This file is 66. That one is 11. And this document is 22. They're all same, two digit numbers.
Leó: Uh... I'm still confused.
Ellíe: OOOOH... I thought she really liked multiples of 11.
Leó: Not so smart now, eh, Lucille?
Ellíe: SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I RIP YOUR BA--
Renett: DON'T DO ANYTHING UNTIL I GET MY CAMERA TO RECORD.
*me entering the room*
Me: Can you guys be quiet? I'm trying to do some writing. Also, it's still raining so we'll need someone to go pick up Dan.
Leó: Renett, can you explain what the digits mean?
Renett: It means she's OCD, duuuur! What else could it mean?
It got me thinking... Could I be OCD? I like digits to be the same as the other. Like, when I put my food in the microwave, I can't leave it in for two minutes & thirty seconds. It HAS to be two minutes & thirty THREE seconds. When I count, I have to count to a specific number or else I won't be satisfied. I also like having EVERYTHING organized. One time, I was in the band room looking for sheet music, but the music was all unorganized. I couldn't resist it; I HAD to organize the music in their proper folders or else.. I spent 2 hours organizing music.
My socks must match. My alarm clock must be set at 5:44AM. I must have 2, 4, or 6 of everything. I must sleep with either 2 pillows, 4, or 6. There's no 1, 3, or 5. I must count to 4 or 8. (Although, being in pep/field band can be considered an excuse for this.) Everything has to be clean; if there's a single spec of dust, I /will/ flip out. If there's something out of place, I WILL notice. I've thought about having OCD, but it doesn't sound like I have something serious... to me, at least. Besides, if I told my parents, they'd think I'm just crazy. (which I am) And, if it WERE serious, they would never take me to get it checked out. "Here, take some Tylenol, you'll be cured in 3 hours!" Because Tylenol cures OCD, in my parents' point of view. I could be OCD... or maybe I'm just really picky. Either way, I don't think it's super serious.
I'm eating 2 waffles right now.
Edit: So far, I have 21 entries, & this is bothering me sO MUCH. LIKE, I'D SCREAM BUT I'D GET IN TRouBLE. I want to add another entry so it evens out, but anything above 11 is too much for me. :v I think I'll either delete this, or delete other past entries.
I'm combining an entry & this entry together because they're both kind of similar.
I could be shot to death & my parents would say, "She'll be okay, just give her Advil."
Renett keeps telling me, "You're seriously OCD."
I always reply with, "I'm not OCD."
She argues with, "Your OCD is showing every effing day."
I dunno. Sometimes I really believe that there's something wrong with me-- maybe it's not exactly OCD, but some other illness. (Not that there's anything wrong with being OCD.) I've told my dad constantly, "I should get checked out." He thinks I'm batshit crazy.
Renett told Briana I was OCD, & Briana replied with, "She's not OCD. She's just weird."
So then Renett told my mom I was OCD...
"Bi's just crazy. She can't be OCD because that doesn't exist."
OCD DOESN'T EXIST? Okay, mom. If that's the case, insanity, schizophrenia, & ADHD don't exist either.
It's not like I make a scene whenever you put my socks on the wrong side of the drawer. It's not like I start screaming whenever the utensils are all mixed up. It's not like I freak out whenever the smaller plates are underneath the bigger ones. It's not like I start punching things whenever my textbooks aren't organized in their exact order. It's not like I start tearing up whenever you put 1:00 on the microwave instead of 1:11.
Maybe I AM just weird. Or maybe Renett's right. Hell, if Renett IS right, then I'm Morgan Freeman.
I do believe something is wrong with me... but I don't know what it is. I want to go see a doctor badly but my parents think I'm just crazy.
Even my dad said it! "There's always been something with you, ever since you were a kid... You've always been weird & laughed at everything."
If you knew something was wrong, why didn't I get checked out?
IF SOMETHING IS OFF, YOU'D INVESTIGATE, RIGHT?
IT JUST MAKES SENSE.
Back to my point above, "OH NO, SHE'S BEEN SHOT. QUICK, BANDAGE HER UP. THAT'LL PREVENT HER FROM DYING." If MY kid was dying, I'd take them to a FUCKING HOSPITAL BECAUSE IT WOULD MAKE SENSE.
There was one time, ONE time, when I broke my arm. I told my mom it hurt & she looked at me & said, "You probably just slept on it." Two weeks later... "Stop sleeping on your god damn arm!" You know what I did? I WENT TO THE FUCKING NURSE'S OFFICE AT SCHOOL. THAT'S when my parents got notified to take me to the doctors... & they STILL didn't take me! My cousin took me because my parents think I'm just begging for attention.
A couple of months ago during freshman year, I would cry. I just cried whenever my body started feeling hot; I didn't have a single reason to cry, but I did.. I cried in front of my parents. They never thought much about it. "Shut up & stop crying, you're too old to cry." "Why the hell are you crying? You don't have a reason to cry." If I were a mom, I'd take my child to get checked. That can't be normal... can it?
I think I might have an eating disorder or something. I've been trying to lose weight, but I just... give up. For the past couple of months, I've eaten breakfast in the morning, & I've thrown it ALL up afterwards. Sometimes there's blood. But does my mom care? HELL NO. "You need to stop throwing up in the morning, it's gross. You either don't eat or just don't brush your teeth." "Why do you eat breakfast to throw it up afterwards?" "Here, I brought you some mouthwash so you won't have to throw up as much." "Don't start throwinf up again, you'll wake up the kids!" That's about it. My mom only cares about me not waking up her kids, just so that she doesn't have to bring them in the car on the way to school. My biological dad has absolutely no idea that I MIGHT have a problem; he just cares about his damn coffee in the morning.
After my last period, I started feeling abdominal pain on my right side. At first I thought it was cramps--but after my period? I thought it was strange, since I've never experienced menstrual cramps before. The pain would be every few hours. A dull pain, it'd go away & wouldn't come back for hours later. After a few days, it became more reoccurring. It started hurting a little more. I confronted my mom about it. "This girl might be sick from the gallbladder." My stepdad replied, "Should probably go see a doctor." "Of course, I'm not entirely sure though." I told my biological dad about it, & he just said, "You're probably hurting because of your sleep position."
Of course I'm not too entirely sure that I'm sick-- but I'd still like to get checked out to make sure it's nothing serious. I feel like that's what a good parent should do.
An old friend of mine complained about her parents trying to take her to get checked out... MY PARENTS NEVER DID ANY OF THAT SO I'D SAY YOU'RE LUCKY THAT YOUR PARENTS ARE EVEN TAKING YOU BECAUSE MINE REFUSE TO.
A shout out to all those parents that take their kids to the doctors because they know something is off. 🙌👏 I would love to have parents like that.
Also, another shout out to the school nurse for actually calling home instead of giving me some graham crackers & a juice box. 👍
(I tried going to the doctors by myself before... "I'm sorry, you need an adult with you before we can set up an appointment for you.")