Yesterday was a day of processing information that will likely be proven false or end up merely a drop of knowledge in the future 100 years from now. I struggle with psychology because of my own traumas. My boyfriend describes my life as a series of extreme traumas. When I first started meeting people 7 years ago who would actually speak to me despite my being so withdrawn, I was literally shocked at how little most people experience In life...and then I was shocked at how much I knew due to how much I experienced. Even without leaving the house for 7 to 14 years. By age 11 I had REALLY lived and knew far too much about this world, in part due to residing in low-income housing, and living in the shelter system so much. I had moved 17 times that I could remember. I knew A LOT of crazy people.

But here I am, my first semester of my Junior year. I have to focus on why I am doing this (psychology crap) in order to keep going. It is incredibly hard to face your wounds...and to admit weakness and lack of ability to handle what you have gone through. To admit it scarred you and no you are not the same being, there are parts that remain, but the traumas alter the chemical composition of your being. I now analyze developmental theories in relation to my past and current development. Was I predetermined to be agoraphobic, to have PTSD? What led me to know the world is not safe enough for me to be in it? I know the final blow; the act that solidified it, the level of torture possible by groups of teenage girls, but what life stages or unmet needs contributed greatly? This is how I read my goddamn textbooks these days. It's worse than therapy, but without the snide comments. And instead of a lack of understanding, it is a self-reflection that is becoming torture, yet somehow a welcome form of pain. And I constantly wonder what are they overlooking? What do I know that they do not?

Processing information and trying to find meaning. Processing trauma. Processing lack of ability vs. excessive thought. My body will not move very far; my mind has no boundaries. My life is a series of two extremes. It always has been. I am honest and not easy to know. I am also (sitting in my room all week) feeling less easy to go into the shuffling of the grocery store. I fear bumping into the fake friends I have, who will hug me and say we should get together but never will follow up. I want to be anonymous again if this fake friends option is my only option for a reality. I don't want to tell my boyfriend that that is the reason I won't go to Tr@der Joe's until a half hour before closing. He just obliges. He dislikes the insanity his own self. I had actually forgotten what it feels like to feel emotionally so naked in public. But with lack of real friends and going out regularly during the week. Without interaction from others at a real college, even if superficial, to not experience the distraction of superficial society, that is what I now feel...exposed.

When I first started leaving the house I used to wonder if people could unconsciously hear my thoughts, my fears, the incessant effing chatter in my head that analyzes the entire world into bearable vs unbearable parables. I now know that even if they could, most people don't care. They are too busy shopping. My being overwhelmed by choices of color, texture, and size mixed with all of the commotion around me mean nothing. But I now know at least that even with the vulnerability, I have worth. Even if only to myself and my pet plants and my cat.

I am the agoraphobic who is a self-taught writer, photographer, artist, illustrator, musician, philosopher, lover of the sounds and sights of nature..collector of plants that are each bestowed a name and have temperaments I try to appease. I am a lover of books, especially antique ones, that I no longer read but collect just the same, of art supplies, theatrical makeup and clothes, hair bands, pens of all colors, and every letter and card ever given to me, and every thing that has ever meant anything to me, all kept safe...in the house like I am. I already had value I did not know of 8 years ago. And then I went to college, where I learned to speak audibly (with notes), to eat in public, to stand up for myself, to support going for my own interests, to have boundaries, to drop things that are too much, to take on challenges when ready, to voice opinions, to trust people I shouldn't have, I learned leadership, I discovered (physical) disorders I have, public speaking, organizing, bellydancing...I took philosophy and writing and film courses and courses that didn't count for anything only to discover that I already knew and possessed what I was seeking...with the exception of the public speaking and bellydancing parts. Not too bad for a fifth grade dropout is still my favorite line. But here, in my room, taking what is about to be roughly 4 years of online only courses, I am facing what I gained...one single thing: Growing by being challenged by others. If I were not agoraphobic I am not as sure I would have grown so much in the 7 years it took to earn my two year degree and certificate. Because I was so sick I never experienced junior high or high school (which I now know to be VERY effing lucky). But I sit here reading my developmental psych book, and remember therapists who never helped because I refused to follow their cognitive and behavioral psych crap that is really akin to psychoanalysis in usefulness while overcoming trauma (�it is all In your mind and thought process� is not helpful when you're starving and homeless), and I know something they do not...they refer to is as �plasticity�, the mind's ability to adapt and make up for something lacking. But it goes further than that. Sometimes the world really has no room for you, the world is lacking a space, the shuffle of society merely spits you out. Sometimes you really are different for whatever reason, and you have to make your own way. They saw me as flawed because I could not leave the house and had missed �key� milestones in juvenile development. They said I would remain developmentally age twelve for the rest of my life...the only truth to that is that I still cannot go to most places alone. But does that fact and inability devalue all that I can do? The fact that I am here re-teaching myself to play guitar in order to keep sane and grounded despite being forced to take time to read poorly written textbooks? I have issues with this American culture...and the counseling field I am considering going into. I have to remind myself it is okay to go my own way. I need to remind myself that I will not do �traditional� counseling outside of what is needed for licensure. 2 years worth...and then I can start showing the world we disabled �freaks� have incredible worth.

Part one of my education was learning to go out into the world, audibly and visibly. Part two...I am here figuring it out, but if I were to give a hint of what I see on the horizon so far, it is some mixture of realizing that life is more important than textbooks. Re-learning to play guitar has equal value to my being and well-being, if not more. And the only times I feel really agoraphobic are when I cannot do something I REALLY want to do...or, in other words, when I am, as I am now, craving brownies that I cannot go get. :-/

I stayed up late lastnight and listened to this twice:

~e