In The Newsroom, I Hide.

It’s my fortress of solitude, away from the world outside. During university, I was a volunteer researcher at a clinical psychology lab, I used to camp out there as well. Eventually I brought my pillow and blanket, and slept in the lab, even though I would eventually live on campus.

It started off as an ego thing, it made me feel like I was succeeding in my field, it made me feel like I belonged to some group of UofT faculty; I felt I was at least that much closer to being faculty. It was honestly a dream come true, I had some classes, lived in an apartment with a few (although very distant) roommates, cooked for myself, there was a gym on campus, but later in the day I got to research. Not like experiment on actual people, but I started off by rummaging through endless amounts of articles. But after a while, I started hanging out there, doing homework there, eating lunch in staff lounges (they were so cool). Naturally, it became my home away from home. But after a while, it became a hideout.

When I couldn’t deal with certain people or things, I did find it hard to focus. So, instead of always going to that ultra quiet study room in the library, where I was confined to a study cubicle, I’d go to the lab where I had ample room to stretch out and be comfortable. The post before discusses how frequently my heart gets played with, so I could be controlled and made to do certain things for women, then I get shafted because I would believe one thing, yet something else will happen. Part of this is that labs fault, at least that is where it had started. I will include that in my second post on how I have been abused in the past.

The reason why I would separate myself from the rest of the school, and seclude myself to the lab was the mere fact I didn’t have to deal with anyone’s bullshit. I could be alone, and study or do my work in peace. I often did personal stuff in there as well like view my bank statements, take care of my bills and finances. Then I left that lab, and went on to do some more experimental research, this time involving human subjects where the entire school campus was my lab in a sense. Then I graduated and started more adventures that opened new chapters in my life (I seriously feel like I am writing my biography after a stupendous career, I still haven’t had one yet).

Although having that access to that lab was a gift, it allowed for me to develop a couple of bad habits. The first one, is that I work way too much, because I loved it. I was usually alone, I cranked my retro music, I worked on my own time (which was late at nights). The other habit, is that the lab (which is now what I think of the newsroom) came to be a safe space when the world had made me feel like I wasn’t wanted. Let me make something absolutely clear, this isn’t the same as not being wanted because you are homosexual, transexual, or all the other kinds of sexual; I feel like I am not wanted because I have a weird screwed up concept of opportunity cost. I am not that well balanced, especially when I am carrying things in my hands and in my backpack that’s on my back. Today, on the bus, a woman was standing and the bus had jolted forward; needless to say, I went stumbling into to her (lightly though). As I was getting back to being balanced, I took a step forward letting go of the pole and the bus jolted again, I stepped on the same girls foot and she was wearing flats, I wasn’t. Her face turned sour, she scowled and moved beside her friend not making any eye contact with me, she muttered something to her friend.

He turned to me and I said “It’s called a disability, I wanted to apologize but your friend got upset and moved”, and that should have been the end of it. Yet, for me it wasn’t, part of my injury is to have this messed up memory, I can recall details, usually the ones where I felt a strong emotional reaction, like shame. I can hide it, sure, pretend that I am a cold person, because let’s face it, you’ve made me this way. But after a while, I’ve experienced so much that I get why you reacted that way.

Does that make it right though? Probably not, I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for being disabled. But here’s is where that messed up opportunity cost comes in, I believe that if you had the choice of me being on that bus and even potentially causing you some physical pain, you’d rather not have me around at all and thus not having that physical pain. In other words, you would forego having me around, and go about your day; because, I don’t matter at all. I have been told that I don’t matter, that I think of myself as important when I am not. Now I see the impact I am having on people, and I’m always making mistakes, no matter how hard I try to not impose or be in the way of anyone.

It’s even affecting my love life, it’s been 15 years since I have had one. You know what’s the worst part, I didn’t alway used to be this self critical of myself and I still didn’t have a love life, think about how I feel now that I am this way. It’s been like this for the last 7 years and I am seriously ready to just give up. Everyone else gets to date, have a career, have sex, and most of these people are fucking retards. I put time and effort into my body, mind and being respectful to all, yet I get the doors slammed in my face.

Not closed, slammed; is this a life you’d want to live?

Guess where I am writing this entry.

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