Same old, same old.

I  still cannot forgive the family members that tried to get me to fill out that useless form. I could literally still write the same post today that I wrote in October. I think I know why that forgiveness for this does not come easily; it's because that if what I went through cannot be classified as trauma, then it comes pretty close. The Dictionary.com definition of trauma is "an experience that produces psychological injury or pain". The Student's Oxford that lives on my desk classifies it as: "emotional shock following a stressful event, sometimes leading to long-term neurosis" or "a distressing or emotionally disturbing experience". 

This, of course, comes after realizing that two of my sisters thought they were more than capable of making every single decision for me, except for the small, inconsequential ones, like how I like my coffee, or what to order at a fast food restaurant.

One example of a decision that was "made for me" was the endless push for me to move to Alberta, because people on disability in that province get more. The catch is, it has been harder to get on disability in Alberta for years. And it has recently gotten much harder. Of course, that means the time invested in applying is enormous. In the province I am in now, there were delays in applying for disability. A lot of it was due to ignorance. I did have to apply three times. In Alberta, I think the process is more convoluted than it is here. 

And of course, what makes me moving out to Alberta even better (to my "decision-makers") is that I am "allowed" to come back for visits.

None of this is supposed to have made me enraged or even angry. None of this was supposed to have traumatized me. Yet, it did regardless.

I cannot forget who else has also traumatized me, by doing essentially the same thing; my former roommate. When I lived in another bigger city than the one I am in now, I had a roommate who thought it was a good idea to also appoint herself as my "decision maker". She reminded me that I was "special needs" often. I think it may have been every day, for months at a time. As if I could forget that I am on the Spectrum. Living with her was basically a circus. I am not sure which one of us was the monkey. The odd thing was, she was, and still is, "special needs" herself. She had, and must still have a hearing impairment.

I wonder, if I had never lived with that woman, would what my mother and sisters have done to me have cut me as deeply as it did? Why do I allow others to abuse me?

Nothing makes me angrier than the phrase "Good intentions". Since it is almost always stupid people that have them, and base everything on them.