In Which I Don’t Matter

TW: anxiety


So I spent most of the day stuck inside my house, crying and terrified.


Well, I woke up after two hours to a banging outside. I thought it was the next door neighbour, because he works construction and he does that. Except, you know, it didn’t stop. And then it started closer – in front of the door kind of closer. There are two ways out – the front door and the garage, right next to the front door. So I couldn’t leave.

The only way for me to call the police is to get someone to do it for me or use the relay, which, well, means I have to get someone else to do it for me. So I messaged my mum. Who didn’t get back to me for two hours.


It turns out that like last time, a bunch of repairmen came and started to work on the house without telling anyone – not the property manager, not the presiding officer, not the landlord, nobody. Last time, it was someone fixing the roof, looking down on me in the shower through the fan cavity. The time before, I had the guy insist on coming in several times and he turned up a few days later asking for my phone number. The time before that, after I had been told they were done, I had someone trying to get in the back door (which is fenced and blocked off by way of two six foot fences and two locks, and the back gate is blocked by my dad’s random handyman whatever). None of these times did anything come of complaining – my landlord (i.e. my mum) said it was too hard and just to deal with it.


So today, like, they came, blocked off the exit, and started working on the house, while I was in it, without me knowing. I was terrified. My mum did nothing.

So then she’s like ‘wah I didn’t get your text! but the neighbour wants you to open the gate for them tomorrow!’ And, of course, I’m like ‘no’. Because, you know, if someone wants access to do repairs, they’re meant to give 48 hours notice, and if they don’t, or they can’t get access, they just do what they can without it (as long as they gave notice). At least, so I thought. I had even checked the mailbox over the weekend, and there was no note, nothing. Also, I’m meant to go to the doctors’ tomorrow, oh, and the anitbiotics for the pain I’ve had for over four years because “it might be an infection!!” have given me the flu.

Here’s the thing: I told my mum this and she’s like “well why can’t you go?”

Because, like, someone wants access to the house?

“It’s just the backyard,” with, you know, all Dad’s expensive tools?

“I don’t like being told what to do and I can’t deal with the neighbour, so just do it because otherwise he’ll make trouble.” It’s 2017, we’re past gender minorities having to play nice to satisfy men.

“Okay,” I said. “Who are they and where are they from?”

She didn’t know, and wanted to know why.

“So I can make sure they’re who they say they are.”

Incoherent rage. Because, you know, she’s tired and the weather’s bad and instead of saying no, she went to a funeral or something and she’s tired and she can’t be bothered dealing with the neighbour, who actually has no legal authority to order anyone to let anyone in?

“Mum, are you saying you want me to let people on to your property without knowing who they are, without legal notice, because you can’t deal with the neighbour?”

Yes, she said.

“Even though it’s my safety this affects?”

Yes, she said.


Well, I don’t know if I’m the unusual one, but if your mental health is such that you would rather put people in danger because you’re not emotionally capable of caring for yourself enough to handle your responsibilities to your family (ones that people explicitly offered to take over and you rejected because you wanted to keep it)…


So then, after crying so much I had to do my makeup again because I turned into a panda face even before it dried, I went to dance.

My knee buckled, once, because I have the flu and I am tired and I wasn’t able to put all my energy into hiding all my body’s little quirks.

“Are you okay?” The teacher, who knows full well that I have a physical, mostly invisible disability, asked, in front of everyone.

“Are you sure?” she said, because I said I was fine.

And this continued for the rest of the lesson. And afterwards. See, a few weeks ago, it was really bright, and I closed my eyes for a second because I’m officially now light sensitive and bright is bad. “Are you okay? Are you sure? You can sit down!” Her mother is a student, and feels like every time the teacher asks if I’m okay, she can get involved too. Then it was “You can sit with me!” Today it was “She’s just sore”.

Not a she.

Not sore.

My body does different things sometimes but it’s normal and fine for me and it’s really rude to constantly bring attention to it. My knee buckles when I walk unless I make a conscious effort to keep it straight. I have to wear a brace so I don’t hunch when I walk. I can’t lift my right arm all the way up, and how far it goes depends on the day. I have a migraine all the time now, because of the Incident (but remember, if you don’t have a period then it’s okay to have a migraine all the time because not having a period makes everything okay! /SARCASM), so I have to function with it. A lot of the time that means resting a ton and barely getting by, but still.

So then like, I was leaving and this started again and I stopped and typed out that I was fine, it was just my disability. And, now, after eight weeks, they wanted to know if I’d be okay getting down the stairs. You know, the ones I’ve been fine with given enough time for all the weeks before this one? Those stairs. I said I was fine. Believe me, please.


I’m just done, except now I have to spend all night working in the back yard and I don’t get to sleep until goodness knows when AND I don’t get to go to the doctor to find out why I have the flu.


And also, I can’t leave during business hours, so I don’t get to reup my prescription either.


But I guess I don’t matter.