Hi! So today’s post is a very early draft on my relationship with my brain and my sicknesses, and my relationships in general. Thanks for reading! xo
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The first time I felt stupid, I was 9 years old.
I didn’t get math, nor did I understand why my brain liquefied whenever I saw a string of numbers. When I took those tests, my mind would sliver itself into panicked triangles before settling into a strange sense of peace. I was safely boxed into those 60 minutes, weighed down by anxiety so profound it felt like comfort. If I was still taking the test, then the test hadn’t been graded, which meant I hadn’t fucked up. Yet.
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In 2013, I was so afraid of my perceived lack of intelligence that my therapist had me undergo a full psychological assessment, including a Full Scale Intelligence Quotient (FSIQ) test.
My report says, “The [FSIQ] provides a global estimate of a person’s current level of cognitive ability and includes measures of verbal- and performance-based skills. It generally serves as a reliable predictor of academic achievement and occupational success. However, in Ms. Kenneally’s case, the inconsistency within and between her index and subtext scores renders her FSIQ invalid. A closer look at the individual indices provides a more accurate and useful understanding of her relative strengths and weaknesses.”
What I read: I’m so fucking stupid I broke the whole test.
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Shortly after I got back together with Sarah* for the 2nd time, I had a panic attack texting her from a coffee shop because she had promised things would be different and they weren’t. Not really.
I papered myself with red flags. I collected them like pets.
Looking back, it was a lot easier for me to tell myself that my intelligence had dulled instead of my instincts. It’s a devastating thing, to admit how far you’ve traveled from yourself.
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