(no subject)
It's been a month since I've bothered to chronicle anything, and yet unlike previous droughts this one has failed to leave me with that naked, thoughtless feeling. I assume that might be because I'm currently living with a boyfriend on which I am permitted to vent, but that could just be me.
That's an interesting notion, however - I'm in a very different place than I was at this time last year. Honestly, the summer of 2007 left me feeling more broken than fortified, the reasons for which I'm sure I've hashed out in previous entries. But here I am, in my fourth year (of five, somewhat regrettably, although I'm in no hurry to occupy the real world with my person). I'm living with a boyfriend with whom I've been in a relationship for six months (well, as of next Monday), dying of financial drought and yet somehow surviving. Paying for university grows increasingly difficult as the years pass by, and yet we all manage to get through. Well, I suppose that's overly optimistic. Most of us get through, anyway.
Honestly, there are more pressing things to talk about than my personal life, although everything I talk about here is related in some tangential way. Take this next topic, for example: The Story of Why I Am Intensely Annoyed with People Who Capitalize on Fake Disorders. I have an anxiety disorder, the effects of which I struggle with every day. Sometimes it's impossible for me to control my volatility, and on other days I deal reasonably well. However, throughout the ups and downs of my illness, I have sought only two concessions, which I hope can be considered as reasonably legitimate: back in the stages when I was still convinced I was going to die of undetected cancer tomorrow, I requested the university waive two of my midterms. This was a double-edged sword, however - it meant I wrote a 100% final for one course (Cell Biology) and a 75% final for the other (Biochemistry). This was a fact of which I was well aware when I made the decision to request my doctor's note and made the appropriate arrangements. What kills me, however, is that there are certain people with whom I am acquainted that use their supposed disabilities as a crutch, and milk 'special consideration' for all its worth. I'm not going to elaborate on specific examples, but these are the people you see wearing their disabilities like badges of merit, as if being ill or affected is somehow cause for respect. I'm not saying that those of us struggling with physical or mental disorders aren't worthy of respect, but I'd like to think it's no more or less than that alloted for an able-bodied or fully able-minded person. I don't prance around proclaiming my disability because frankly, it's none of anyone's business other than those on whom it has an impact (read: myself, my family, my significant other, my close friends). When did it become fashionable to have something mentally or physically wrong with oneself, and why haven't I noticed how very interesting or pleasureable my disability is, I wonder? Plainly stated, these disorders, when one actually has them, are not in the least bit amusing or fun - if I could snap my fingers tomorrow and be rid of my anxiety disorder, I absolutely would. What those people who are either faking disorders or milking theirs don't realize is that doing so makes it more difficult for those of us who are actually suffering to get the help we need. After all, how many people, I wonder, have cited psychological or medical reasons as cause to be exempt from a midterm and not actually been sick? It chews on the very ends of my already-frayed nerves to think that people can fake something that I struggle with every day and be afforded the same concessions. And I could have reasonably requested a few more, had I felt I needed them! I understand that these options are there as a last resort and out of courtesy from the people who administer my courses (or government officials, or what have you). Crying wolf only hurts those of us who actually need the help from time to time.
And on that note, I sorely need a nap. I haven't been sleeping well lately. Too much on the go.
That's an interesting notion, however - I'm in a very different place than I was at this time last year. Honestly, the summer of 2007 left me feeling more broken than fortified, the reasons for which I'm sure I've hashed out in previous entries. But here I am, in my fourth year (of five, somewhat regrettably, although I'm in no hurry to occupy the real world with my person). I'm living with a boyfriend with whom I've been in a relationship for six months (well, as of next Monday), dying of financial drought and yet somehow surviving. Paying for university grows increasingly difficult as the years pass by, and yet we all manage to get through. Well, I suppose that's overly optimistic. Most of us get through, anyway.
Honestly, there are more pressing things to talk about than my personal life, although everything I talk about here is related in some tangential way. Take this next topic, for example: The Story of Why I Am Intensely Annoyed with People Who Capitalize on Fake Disorders. I have an anxiety disorder, the effects of which I struggle with every day. Sometimes it's impossible for me to control my volatility, and on other days I deal reasonably well. However, throughout the ups and downs of my illness, I have sought only two concessions, which I hope can be considered as reasonably legitimate: back in the stages when I was still convinced I was going to die of undetected cancer tomorrow, I requested the university waive two of my midterms. This was a double-edged sword, however - it meant I wrote a 100% final for one course (Cell Biology) and a 75% final for the other (Biochemistry). This was a fact of which I was well aware when I made the decision to request my doctor's note and made the appropriate arrangements. What kills me, however, is that there are certain people with whom I am acquainted that use their supposed disabilities as a crutch, and milk 'special consideration' for all its worth. I'm not going to elaborate on specific examples, but these are the people you see wearing their disabilities like badges of merit, as if being ill or affected is somehow cause for respect. I'm not saying that those of us struggling with physical or mental disorders aren't worthy of respect, but I'd like to think it's no more or less than that alloted for an able-bodied or fully able-minded person. I don't prance around proclaiming my disability because frankly, it's none of anyone's business other than those on whom it has an impact (read: myself, my family, my significant other, my close friends). When did it become fashionable to have something mentally or physically wrong with oneself, and why haven't I noticed how very interesting or pleasureable my disability is, I wonder? Plainly stated, these disorders, when one actually has them, are not in the least bit amusing or fun - if I could snap my fingers tomorrow and be rid of my anxiety disorder, I absolutely would. What those people who are either faking disorders or milking theirs don't realize is that doing so makes it more difficult for those of us who are actually suffering to get the help we need. After all, how many people, I wonder, have cited psychological or medical reasons as cause to be exempt from a midterm and not actually been sick? It chews on the very ends of my already-frayed nerves to think that people can fake something that I struggle with every day and be afforded the same concessions. And I could have reasonably requested a few more, had I felt I needed them! I understand that these options are there as a last resort and out of courtesy from the people who administer my courses (or government officials, or what have you). Crying wolf only hurts those of us who actually need the help from time to time.
And on that note, I sorely need a nap. I haven't been sleeping well lately. Too much on the go.