Monday, February 2, 2009

Arrêtes! Ne Me Touches Pas Là!

Luke: If women didn't frequently get raped, that would be hilarious.

OK, so over the years I have realized that I have a few issues. Depression, anxiety that should probably be medicated, and a general aversion to strangers. Especially touchy-feely strangers.

Now, this is where I get messed up. I have no real problems with people my age who want to hug when they see me or whatever, even most guys (with whom I'm usually much more shy.) Actually, I'm quite free with contact among people in my age group. But when adult-types go to hug or kiss or shake hands, that's when my "weirdness center" kicks in.

One time, I was at a doctor's office. Super sick. Not a good place to be, as I couldn't really breathe. They had a new doctor in the place, a new doctor who I was seeing. He went to shake my hand, and my stupid touch issues went all insane. Inside, I was all, "NO! DO NOT TOUCH ME." I shook the guy's hand, but not after a not-so-subtle-but-totally-involuntary wince and an abundance of post-contact Purell. (Yes. I am a germophobe.) So far, like 5 other doctors have done this to me--all male. Is this some kind of middle-aged white guy with a PhD thing? What's the deal here? Plus, they all have the weird not-sweaty, I-just-wiped-my-sweaty-hands-on-my-trousers, slightly puffy fat hands, even if they're not fat. It's
bizarre. Hasn't anyone else noticed this?

Continuing with the doctor theme, since I've been to quite a few of them lately, all of these random middle-aged-white-guys-with PhDs seem to require prodding me or making me lie down. I have
issues with lying down. It's like, submission, and makes me vulnerable and stuff. Now, every time I am persuaded to lie down, I typically have a needle jabbed into me or some bodily fluid removed from a facial orifice. Or a large, plumber's-snake esque device fed through my nose to down my throat so a doc could have a live-action view of my nasal cavities. Yum. Yeah so this time I actually was getting blood drawn, and for some reason incomprehensible to me, I am again asked to lie down. Now, pair this irrational fear of lying down with my other irrational anxiety about the veins at the crooks of my arms, and you get one stressed out FBT. Couple this with an extremely high fever, and you get an extremely stressed-out FBT who is dizzy and faintly nauseated and very unwilling to cooperate. And I'm terrified of needles. Yup, it's a really fun time.

Then there are relatives. Although they are related to me, I really cannot comprehend how we can share anything other than a bloodline. All of the relatives and non-relatives-but-we'll-pretend-they-are-for-the-hell-of-it on mon père's side seem to have a thing for contact. Now, because I don't particularly like any of these psycho relatives, I don't really wish to touch them--let alone be in the same room with them for hours at a time while they subtly critisize my clothes/friends/life and then mock me about it. (In the words of my othuh grandmuthuh, «oy vey!») However, after these hours of annoyance and boredom cease, they all do not fail to try to hug/kiss me. Now, the hug is something I have not perfected with adults. It always seems to be an awkward, vaguely pedophiliac moment, especially with my relatives--who may or may not be on crack. So you can probably imagine how this awkwardness is added to when they go to kiss me on the cheek or something. I have to resist the urge to grab the nearest blunt object and swat them away with it. I'm such a charmer. Really. I swear.
(Actually, I do manage to stay quite polite with these folks, contrary to popular belief.)

Yeah, so just tack this onto the Cosmic List of Stuff that Makes FBT a Weird Kid. Because not only do I
have the issues, I REPORT 'em. All for you, folks.

Now, I'm going back to taking my temperature, drinking plenty of fluids, and watching Juno with French dub. PARCE QUE JE SUIS TOUT SIMPLEMENT COOLE COMME ÇA.