I did not expect my horrible experiences with doctors to make me leery of people in general, but they did. Even though I long to make friends, I find myself asking new people exclusively about themselves; I realize I don't trust them with much knowledge about myself. Or maybe it's that I don't trust them with medical knowledge about myself? But then again, nowadays how much can I say about myself without alluding to something medical in nature?
"I'm not working, I'm disabled." (Just uttering this phrase is enough to make 80% of people uncomfortable)
"I'm a poet." (When I say this, people look at me like I say I build sand castles for a living.)
"Well, I wanted to be a professor but..." (Mentioning frustrated hopes and dreams to people I just met?.
So I'm stuck between desperately wanting to meet people, and desperately not wanting to talk to them. I feel like there are two of me sometimes: the 27-year-old me who is healthy and hale and can set and accomplish any goal, and the realtime 31-year-old me who sometimes goes up the the stairs on all fours and carries a plastic bag in case she needs to puke while driving. I can't seem to figure out that one of these people no longer exists. The former me is my favorite, so capable, so self-possessed, so ambitious, so bright. She has a masters in poetry and she would like to teach. Younger children, not necessarily college students. Her work is pretty good, you should read it! Very much about womanhood and identity and sense of place....
And then there's...uh...me. Shy of people and looking lost, sick constantly, bouncing from doctor to doctor, trying to find one familiar with her not-so-rare rare disorder. Overwhelmingly most of my energy this past two years has gone towards getting a diagnosis and getting treated. And that's right, that's where it should have gone.
So why am I so sure a new group of people would reject someone like me?