Non-newtonian fluids.
So, how the whole thing went today. In detail, because, again, I am documenting the shit out of everything from here on out so it will help me later, or help others now.
Yesterday, if you will recall, I had to wait an hour for the doctor to see me for a five-minute appointment. I had a rotten ride home and a bad rest of the day, so I was already stressed before I went to sleep, already freaking out about the appointment today, and I had nightmares all night. Pretty bad, yeah.
Today I culled a bunch of relevant journal entries from 2007 to the present and took those with me. The process of going through that stuff, though, was seriously stressful. Like, there is a reason I do not go back through and reread that stuff for funsies, and that is because it is depressing to realize just how long this shit has been going on, and just how much it's taken from me.
I girded myself for battle. Nick's hair tie. Jandar's claw necklace and (new) matching armband. I'd painted my nails black the night before, which is very Horatio. I put on the Baron's favorite shirt. Xander's scent. It seems silly, these little things that mean nothing to anyone else, and it is actually kind of embarrassing to admit I had to do this or even that I do, but it helped a lot and I arrived in a pretty good headspace. Nervous, but truly okay.
And then it happened again. I waited. And waited. And waited.
I want to stress that I am a very, very patient person, and I do not like making a pain out of myself to people trying to do their jobs, especially when their jobs involve a lot of people getting pissy with them. I like to make things easier for the people I come in contact with. I'm the sort of person who gives genuine compliments to my servers at restaurants, or the kid at the drive-thru. I am seriously Ms. Please Von ThankYou.
But by the time it had been over an hour, I could feel something really ugly building. Crowded waiting room, a really annoying program on the TV with a bunch of lovely health-shaming shit on repeat, too loud, too hot, too everything. I was shaking, and my hands were shaking, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. I was getting the physical symptoms of an incipient meltdown, and I could feel myself crumbling.
So I went to the desk again and said "Is Ms. Person going to be available soon? Because I am having a lot of trouble controlling a panic attack, and I really need to get this done.
They were like "How long have you been waiting?"
"Since before 1:00." *polite but icy Kate Beckett glare*
"Hang on, we'll call her."
So I waited another couple minutes and then she came out, and was like "I'm really sorry, there was a mistake; they never called me. I thought you were a no-show."
"I'm here." Again, the stare.
A combination of Ms. Person's body language and the body language of the woman next to her told me exactly what was coming, so I was expecting it when she said "I have another client waiting who-"
"No." I interrupted gently but firmly. "We do this now. I came, I was on time, I have been fighting off panic attacks since yesterday over this, this is extremely hard for me. I will not reschedule because I literally cannot do this again, and I cannot wait another hour. We will do this today." I spoke quietly and slowly but with an edge, and I looked her in the eye. "We will do this now."
She turned and asked the other woman - her next client, who had been sitting beside me and watching me shake and fidget and put my head between my knees, and who heard the entire exchange - if she could wait just a few minutes while we did this, and the other client agreed - possibly because I was standing like Ezio Auditore and staring with that level take-no-shit stare. I immediately apologized to the poor woman who would have to wait, thanked her sincerely, and left and had the appointment.
I apologized to the clinician for being irritable, explained about the panic crap, told her I was not angry with her at all, and was ordinarily a very gentle, easygoing person. She understood, of course, but seemed a little . . . off, and I am still not sure what she thought of me.
Then I spent about five minutes nonverbal as I tried to collect my shit enough to do what needed to be done. I couldn't even read the papers I had in front of me. My script went out the window, all the stuff I had meant to say. Shit I had rehearsed. And because I couldn't sit there in silence the whole time, I just went with the first thing that came to mind. I do not know where it came from. And, because it was so fucking stressful, I remember it extremely well. This is very nearly verbatim what transpired (yes, I do talk like this in person):
"Do you know what a non-newtonian fluid is?"
"No," she said, looking confused.
"If you add water to cornstarch until it makes a thick paste, you get a non-newtonian fluid. You can pour it, you can push your fingers into it, scoop it with a spoon, things will sink into it if you put them on the surface. It behaves like a liquid if you are gentle with it. But if you hit it then it becomes solid. Drop a spoonful of it on the floor and it cracks apart, drop something on the surface and it will just sit there, squeeze it hard and it won't come out between your fingers, if you try to grab it quickly, it solidifies. The water spreads the force and the particulates - in this case, that would be cornstarch particles - suspended in it nearby sort of get locked up under the water pressure and the whole thing can't move.* It becomes a solid. Quicksand is a non-newtonian fluid, and so is ketchup. My point is, if you apply force to it, it hardens and resists, but it is not hard. It's just a weird fluid. The moment the pressure lets up, it goes back to being a sticky paste."
She was looking very confused.
"That. That is what I am. Which is why I seem calm and collected and not sick at all when I come to interviews like this one, and like the one I had with Ms. First Case Manager - who was really nice, by the way. Under the pressure, I harden; it's instinctive, it's a survival trait I have because I have always needed it, but I can only do it for short periods of time, and afterwards I just collapse. I can't do it often. I don't even come out to interact with people when I am not capable of absorbing that force. People don't see me crumble, because if I think I can't take it I don't deal with people. So professional folks like you sometimes mistake me for something that is hard and strong, because they only see me under that kind of pressure. I'm not. And today, you're seeing me much more like I usually am, because I spent everything I had getting here, then that wait knocked the rest out of me, and now I am going back to being soft. Sorry if I crumble."
She looked way less confused.
And then I pulled out the sheet with the WRONG STUFF on it and pointed to it and said "That is why this is inaccurate. This is not mild. I don't want to be bitchy or bullying or demanding, that is the very last thing I want, but we need to change this."
And she was like "I can do that right now." Which was unexpected and awesome.
So we changed the wording of nearly everything. I'm moderately impaired (I agree with this), but now it says I cannot function with OR without medication and therapy. Which is fucking true. Now it says that I want to learn to control what I can, enjoy the good times, and prepare as best as I can for the bad periods. No talk of trying to become normal.
I gave her the stuff I printed and we talked about where to go from here, and all that is for another time since we are still hammering out the details.
I apologized for being less-than-ordinarily agreeable, assured her that when we met again I would be a lot more fun, and she walked me out. I thanked the lady who had been waiting again on the way - I would send her a card if I could - and then I came home and collapsed. Like the non-newtonian fluid I am.
So, you see, THAT conversation is why I felt like a fucking rock star. I pulled that metaphor out of my ass. I might have used it with someone else recently, but I can't recall, specifically, when or where, and in my state I am surprised it occurred to me.
And it worked.
I got what I needed to get done, done. And I do wonder if she will try making a non-newtonian fluid sometime, just to see what I was on about.
I still can't believe I did it. I still can't believe it worked. I am still keyed up and tense and restless and I have a lingering halo of anxiety, but mostly I just have a sense of total disbelief that this went my way. I feel kind of stupid for being so proud of what I did when it's just one tiny step and the rest will be so much harder, but . . . guys, I got a medical professional to rewrite part of a psychological assessment. That's not small potatoes.
And I want to say that I literally could not have mustered the strength to do this today if not for you guys and your input and your support over the last few entries. That is the gods' own truth.
Major love to Sargon, who is being super-understanding and gentle and is distracting me and putting up with my uneasiness and inability to tell what I need from moment to moment. I could not do ANY of this without him. Appropriate tips of the hat to my imaginary people, who came through with exactly the sort of calm but very hard anger I needed, just when I needed it.
And thank you to Seanan McGuire, whose song Wicked Girls Saving Ourselves has been very helpful to me whenever I need to muster the courage to do something alone.
All y'all are my particulates. You help me absorb external force, and bear up under unexpected weight.
Thanks, guys.
Bed now. My imaginary particulates are impatient.
* My description may not have been accurate. I do not understand physics, but that's how I remembered it working.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count:
Yesterday, if you will recall, I had to wait an hour for the doctor to see me for a five-minute appointment. I had a rotten ride home and a bad rest of the day, so I was already stressed before I went to sleep, already freaking out about the appointment today, and I had nightmares all night. Pretty bad, yeah.
Today I culled a bunch of relevant journal entries from 2007 to the present and took those with me. The process of going through that stuff, though, was seriously stressful. Like, there is a reason I do not go back through and reread that stuff for funsies, and that is because it is depressing to realize just how long this shit has been going on, and just how much it's taken from me.
I girded myself for battle. Nick's hair tie. Jandar's claw necklace and (new) matching armband. I'd painted my nails black the night before, which is very Horatio. I put on the Baron's favorite shirt. Xander's scent. It seems silly, these little things that mean nothing to anyone else, and it is actually kind of embarrassing to admit I had to do this or even that I do, but it helped a lot and I arrived in a pretty good headspace. Nervous, but truly okay.
And then it happened again. I waited. And waited. And waited.
I want to stress that I am a very, very patient person, and I do not like making a pain out of myself to people trying to do their jobs, especially when their jobs involve a lot of people getting pissy with them. I like to make things easier for the people I come in contact with. I'm the sort of person who gives genuine compliments to my servers at restaurants, or the kid at the drive-thru. I am seriously Ms. Please Von ThankYou.
But by the time it had been over an hour, I could feel something really ugly building. Crowded waiting room, a really annoying program on the TV with a bunch of lovely health-shaming shit on repeat, too loud, too hot, too everything. I was shaking, and my hands were shaking, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. I was getting the physical symptoms of an incipient meltdown, and I could feel myself crumbling.
So I went to the desk again and said "Is Ms. Person going to be available soon? Because I am having a lot of trouble controlling a panic attack, and I really need to get this done.
They were like "How long have you been waiting?"
"Since before 1:00." *polite but icy Kate Beckett glare*
"Hang on, we'll call her."
So I waited another couple minutes and then she came out, and was like "I'm really sorry, there was a mistake; they never called me. I thought you were a no-show."
"I'm here." Again, the stare.
A combination of Ms. Person's body language and the body language of the woman next to her told me exactly what was coming, so I was expecting it when she said "I have another client waiting who-"
"No." I interrupted gently but firmly. "We do this now. I came, I was on time, I have been fighting off panic attacks since yesterday over this, this is extremely hard for me. I will not reschedule because I literally cannot do this again, and I cannot wait another hour. We will do this today." I spoke quietly and slowly but with an edge, and I looked her in the eye. "We will do this now."
She turned and asked the other woman - her next client, who had been sitting beside me and watching me shake and fidget and put my head between my knees, and who heard the entire exchange - if she could wait just a few minutes while we did this, and the other client agreed - possibly because I was standing like Ezio Auditore and staring with that level take-no-shit stare. I immediately apologized to the poor woman who would have to wait, thanked her sincerely, and left and had the appointment.
I apologized to the clinician for being irritable, explained about the panic crap, told her I was not angry with her at all, and was ordinarily a very gentle, easygoing person. She understood, of course, but seemed a little . . . off, and I am still not sure what she thought of me.
Then I spent about five minutes nonverbal as I tried to collect my shit enough to do what needed to be done. I couldn't even read the papers I had in front of me. My script went out the window, all the stuff I had meant to say. Shit I had rehearsed. And because I couldn't sit there in silence the whole time, I just went with the first thing that came to mind. I do not know where it came from. And, because it was so fucking stressful, I remember it extremely well. This is very nearly verbatim what transpired (yes, I do talk like this in person):
"Do you know what a non-newtonian fluid is?"
"No," she said, looking confused.
"If you add water to cornstarch until it makes a thick paste, you get a non-newtonian fluid. You can pour it, you can push your fingers into it, scoop it with a spoon, things will sink into it if you put them on the surface. It behaves like a liquid if you are gentle with it. But if you hit it then it becomes solid. Drop a spoonful of it on the floor and it cracks apart, drop something on the surface and it will just sit there, squeeze it hard and it won't come out between your fingers, if you try to grab it quickly, it solidifies. The water spreads the force and the particulates - in this case, that would be cornstarch particles - suspended in it nearby sort of get locked up under the water pressure and the whole thing can't move.* It becomes a solid. Quicksand is a non-newtonian fluid, and so is ketchup. My point is, if you apply force to it, it hardens and resists, but it is not hard. It's just a weird fluid. The moment the pressure lets up, it goes back to being a sticky paste."
She was looking very confused.
"That. That is what I am. Which is why I seem calm and collected and not sick at all when I come to interviews like this one, and like the one I had with Ms. First Case Manager - who was really nice, by the way. Under the pressure, I harden; it's instinctive, it's a survival trait I have because I have always needed it, but I can only do it for short periods of time, and afterwards I just collapse. I can't do it often. I don't even come out to interact with people when I am not capable of absorbing that force. People don't see me crumble, because if I think I can't take it I don't deal with people. So professional folks like you sometimes mistake me for something that is hard and strong, because they only see me under that kind of pressure. I'm not. And today, you're seeing me much more like I usually am, because I spent everything I had getting here, then that wait knocked the rest out of me, and now I am going back to being soft. Sorry if I crumble."
She looked way less confused.
And then I pulled out the sheet with the WRONG STUFF on it and pointed to it and said "That is why this is inaccurate. This is not mild. I don't want to be bitchy or bullying or demanding, that is the very last thing I want, but we need to change this."
And she was like "I can do that right now." Which was unexpected and awesome.
So we changed the wording of nearly everything. I'm moderately impaired (I agree with this), but now it says I cannot function with OR without medication and therapy. Which is fucking true. Now it says that I want to learn to control what I can, enjoy the good times, and prepare as best as I can for the bad periods. No talk of trying to become normal.
I gave her the stuff I printed and we talked about where to go from here, and all that is for another time since we are still hammering out the details.
I apologized for being less-than-ordinarily agreeable, assured her that when we met again I would be a lot more fun, and she walked me out. I thanked the lady who had been waiting again on the way - I would send her a card if I could - and then I came home and collapsed. Like the non-newtonian fluid I am.
So, you see, THAT conversation is why I felt like a fucking rock star. I pulled that metaphor out of my ass. I might have used it with someone else recently, but I can't recall, specifically, when or where, and in my state I am surprised it occurred to me.
And it worked.
I got what I needed to get done, done. And I do wonder if she will try making a non-newtonian fluid sometime, just to see what I was on about.
I still can't believe I did it. I still can't believe it worked. I am still keyed up and tense and restless and I have a lingering halo of anxiety, but mostly I just have a sense of total disbelief that this went my way. I feel kind of stupid for being so proud of what I did when it's just one tiny step and the rest will be so much harder, but . . . guys, I got a medical professional to rewrite part of a psychological assessment. That's not small potatoes.
And I want to say that I literally could not have mustered the strength to do this today if not for you guys and your input and your support over the last few entries. That is the gods' own truth.
Major love to Sargon, who is being super-understanding and gentle and is distracting me and putting up with my uneasiness and inability to tell what I need from moment to moment. I could not do ANY of this without him. Appropriate tips of the hat to my imaginary people, who came through with exactly the sort of calm but very hard anger I needed, just when I needed it.
And thank you to Seanan McGuire, whose song Wicked Girls Saving Ourselves has been very helpful to me whenever I need to muster the courage to do something alone.
All y'all are my particulates. You help me absorb external force, and bear up under unexpected weight.
Thanks, guys.
Bed now. My imaginary particulates are impatient.
* My description may not have been accurate. I do not understand physics, but that's how I remembered it working.
X-posted from Dreamwidth. Comment count: