Home sweet home

Home sweet home.

Home sweet ephemeral home. For a couple months.

But at least it's home. 

It's a small room, twenty meters square, with an attached bathroom. No shared kitchen in the building. I had to buy myself a microwave and might even go as far as to buy a top refrigerator because I love ice cream and I'd love to have it. But it's not entirely necessary I find. A microwave is way enough for me. I bought also an iron, a fan (but need a screwdriver for a tiny screw, my pocket knife won't help), brought my kettle from mom's place… I've got pretty much everything I need to feel at home. I even got a little Bluetooth speaker from IKEA and I love it. Takes no space, allows for better music quality.

But I have no internet. That's the one shitty thing here. This post you're reading, I've drafted it on Notepad, and I use my phone as a hotspot to post or check stuff. There's no wifi here, the company broke the contract with the institution that is renting me this room.

That said… I'd rather live in this tiny ass room with no kitchen and no internet than be at my dad's place any day. It's both sad and impressive. Sad because no daughter should hate or even fear her father this much. Impressive because a kitchen is a modern comfort many would take for granted nowadays. But hey, I'm proving myself, once again, how I don't really need all that much to survive properly. The mess will be open during the week. 

Tomorrow I'm getting some of my stuff back at my dad's. I'll leave most of it, honestly. I'll take my winter clothes, whatever I had before coming, my succulent snail plushie (because I love it), probably my Pusheen too. My old knitted kitten, even if it was a gift from him when I was eight and it has lost its meaning, I'm not throwing it away. My eight-year-old self would be heartbroken, even as she had no idea how truly terrible her preferred parent was as a human being. I'll take my crystals, my mouse's ashes, my ship pictures… my art supplies… all of that. But I will leave, for example, my Art Nouveau prints. Or my vines. I'll replace them. They remind me too much of that room I had… and of the life I lived there.

I did not come across Hopoe today. Yeah, think I'll call her Hopoe. It's so weird to think she's this close to me now… like, we're just a corridor and a staircase away from each other. I don't know how she's going to react, quite frankly. We haven't talked in six months. I'm not going to go and knock on her door even as I'm very tempted to at least check that my guess was right about where her room is. Feels kinda creepy to me. I don't like the idea. No, I'll see her soon anyway. When I'll greet the team, or incidentally, one morning, or evening. It will happen. And perhaps today wasn't the best day for it to happen given how run-down I am, and how much I had to do. 

Also. Well. Learned that I did not pass the pro exam. 9/20, 11/20. I'm not receivable for the oral part. I guess I should've known. I've been academically dead since middle school. I've been a disappointment to teachers since that age. In high school, I just did not care anymore. I just wanted a girlfriend, and friends. I didn't care for grades, or "my future", not that I even saw one for myself anyway: I thought I'd be dead by 18, 20, 25. Maybe you, reader, can relate to having been unable to project yourself in the future because you couldn't imagine you'd even be alive in the first place. How many of us who feel this way are out there?... one is already one too many.

But I knew. I knew this wouldn't be it. I never quite walk confidently in an exam room. I always know I'm going to be a loser. That in spite of my best efforts, I will only get a passing grade at most. I mean, I barely got my high school degree. I wasn't attending school for half of the year, so it's kind of a miracle I even got it. I try my hardest to try and apply the "methodology" they are so fond of, but somehow I fail at it. Maybe I truly am autistic, ADHD, or both. Not just gifted. But if I were to learn I truly am "disordered"... I would not stand it. I would offer to end it right there. 

Why? Because it would mean that first, my way of being is pathological, or at least abnormal. It's not just that I happen to be a certain way and am otherwise an entirely normal human being, just with your regular variation like, for example, the fact I'm a lesbian, or that I tend to like some foods that are "acquired tastes". 

I spent so much time, I shed so much blood, sweat and tears trying to unlearn this belief that I'm inherently defective, that this would just be the proof that I was deluding myself. That I was lying to myself. 

Delusion -> insanity. And insanity? This is my single worst fear. Yeah, bigger than plastic bags, vomiting, heights, high speeds, deep water, hornets. Insanity takes away your autonomy forever. If you cannot trust yourself, you are at the mercy of all of those who will abuse their power on you. You have no self, no sovereignty, you are basically… property. Something to manage and deal with. 

Second. If I'm autistic, ADHD, or both, I need "support". Perhaps "substantial support". I can never be a human being that "doesn't need support". I'll be infantilized. Forever. Again, throwing into the trash all the efforts I've made to try and be a person on my own. Not be so scared of the world, not depend on somebody, live life on my own terms. 

If I turn out to have one of those labels, someone will have decided for me, again. Yet again. And I cannot tolerate this anymore, to have things decided for me. Of course it doesn't extend to things like my room attribution or whatever. It's not to THAT degree. But deciding who I am, what I am, and what "support" I need? Adults decide for children. And I've given so much of myself to try and not be a child anymore that I cannot tolerate that my efforts may be all in vain. 

This is also another hangup I have with therapy and psychiatry: they literally decide what's "wrong" (not even always truly wrong! sometimes it makes sense considering your history) based on what some people have written into a manual. It used to be a thing to consider lobotomies normal when what they do is literally kill a person, leaving them incontinent and a shell of their former selves, it used to be a thing to give electroconvulsive therapy to gay people to try and make them straight, and some practices and "disorders" of today will be looked at like those kinds of horrors in the future. 

But alas. I live in the present. And I'm dead convinced that nobody has the right to decide what happens to MY life. I could end up committing crimes if this keeps happening. Crimes of anger, of injustice. Then I'd be put in prison, where they break criminals even more. I guess you can never quite win in life, can you? Unless you're rich and from a family that is reputed. But for us little tetuanui like they say in Tahiti… the commoners, the masses, the little people with just their story, their family and not a ton of money, that's a whole other story.

Anyway. I'm not going to stay up much longer. Not only cause I'm tired as fuck, but also because the lack of internet is giving me a lack of incentive to stay up for too long. My evening tea is ready. I might even make myself a hot water bottle because this works wonders to wind me down. 

Later.

Hopefully later too, Hopoe.