(though not necessarily in that order)

(though not necessarily in that order)

Thursday, 15 September 2011


[Greetings earthlings et al. Apologies for the absence, words been a bit wonky as of late. Not entirely sorted on that front. Anyhow, need a splurge of the melodramatic variety, so... I'm back! *waves frantically in a dorky manner*]

Uncomfortable. That's about the only word to describe it I think.

I feel uncomfortable.

I've been thinking (people always warned me that was a bad idea...). Thinking about how I got support thrown at me when I was "a risk to myself". How come I ended up with all this support when others fight for an initial assessment? What bugs me is that I think I got the support and understanding and stuff because I was the "mad genius" type. The young mad genius type - you know, that "What potential! (pause) So sad and unfortunate that she's so mad" type. The effort others put into my support was disproportionate to that put into others. Even on psych wards, where it was blindly obvious sometimes that I was treated differently. Not better, per se, just different. Allowed books, digital radio, the psych ward keyboard, etc etc (until I tried to strangle myself, then the radio/keyboard went fairly quickly along with the power cables...) in a way that others weren't allowed deodorant or a tooth brush. I can't imagine it was a risk thing, I mean I was hardly of low-risk status in this particular psych ward.

Was my "potential" reason for people to invest time and effort in me, in a way that it wasn't for others? I may be academically fairly sound, but that doesn't give me more potential than others. I strive for success, I've always found it in the academic. Easy to apply myself, get a high mark, feel happy/relieved with self. And everyone has fed into that, as I've always surrounded myself with people expecting that (including parents and the like). I've expected it, I've achieved it, as it were.

I'm not doubting for one moment that my impending doom finals being over in under 764 hours has something to do with this thinking. I'm striving for a first, people around me are expecting a first, I'll be disappointed with anything less than a first... see how the cycle feeds itself? Easily done, y'know. And whilst everyone else would get used to the idea of a 2.1, I couldn't. And I'm petrified I'll get a 2.1.
I know the world doesn't just look at exam results, I know.
In other people, I really couldn't care two asparagus shoots what exams they've passed, or not passed, or not even attempted.
But me, I am the academic. I'm not particularly friendly, or amusing, or... [insert other "positive" attributes here]. I'm happy being the academic. It is what I am.

But why did I get that support? Why did the system work to get me back to "normal enough to not need to be on the books of a MH team"? According to my psych, in a letter to support a claim for DSA a few weeks ago, I'm still as mad as ever. But I'm sufficiently non-mad too. But this help, was it all because I clearly was a mathematician who can do maths, even when bonkers?

I hate my perceived intelligence at times. Focus and perspective are lacking and all that. I hate to say it, but sometimes I wish I weren't so fecking intelligent. Not in a big headed "I'd like to be dumb" just "I'd like to be more normal". Painfully uncomfortable at being me, in a way. Makes it more tricky, that's for certain.

Yesterday was my first proper mad day in a while. To the point where I was planning to have a mini-breakdown in front of a group of musicians to get some help on a load of work I can't physically do as I don't have the time (let's just say I wimped out and spent 2 hours bouncing around using up far too much energy given what reserves I had). Voices were crazy, the faceless people were back, I haven't had the faceless people crowding each room for about 2 years, I was shaking, people were laughing at me in the town and the police helicopters overhead were in fact looking for me, to take me to hell pysch ward. Today I've had the people once, all lined up at the window peeking (well, considering lack of eyes, maybe peeking is the wrong word) in at me. Yesterday I had to leave my purses at home. A conscious thing, to stop myself from trying something. It scared me, to be honest, scared me that actually I would have easily taken an overdose if I had "a spare 20 minutes in my day" and some cash on me.

It feels uncomfortable, because everything depends on this next 4.5 weeks. Everything I know then slightly/greatly changes. My work situation is also changing, as shortly after that my church life is changing fairly radically.
Musically, I'm 4.5 weeks from ramping up my musical life for 9 months.
Mathematically, I'm 4.5 weeks from simply awaiting results. In about 3 months time, I'll know. And be starting to apply for post-grad stuff.

Uncomfortable as my body fails a bit more. I know I'm having a wobbly few weeks, but things have been crap. Can't put it down to hormones being skewiff given the timings involved, but I'm not ready to admit defeat on things. However I hurt, and I wish I didn't.

Uncomfortable as I still feel a fraud. A madwoman in positions of responsibility. A musician in mathematician's clothing. Or a mathematician in musician's clothing. Or a fucking horrendous disaster in a glorified superwoman status. So hard, when so many seem to like me. Someone pointed out that one way to stop me getting asked to do so much was to do things badly, given that then I wouldn't be asked again. Then they pointed out that I probably couldn't do that, however much I'd like the end point. Because that isn't me. Meh.

So yeah, I'm uncomfortable. And the cracks are showing. And people are starting to realise. And people are starting to realise that the stresses aren't exactly fixable immediately. And what if I was given more help (however crappy it was) because I seem intelligent? THAT, that right there, feels wrong. Especially when I'm so bloomin' pissed off with my brain.

[Told you it was splurge of the melodramatic variety...]

[Disclaimer: I am still probably safe to not involve the dreaded MHPs. I am still probably a competent teacher/mathematician/musician/X/Y/Z. I am still probably going to be OK. Just... well... I can't be certain of the future right now. That's what stinks quite a bit.]