The Wrong Turns

Realizing that I have not yet explained how much of a pain getting my license was...

Let's do that now.

The first test went wrong for a number of reasons.  
For one, it happened that the guy looked like an almost-assailant of mine, was WAY too cocky, and in general pretty obviously hated women.  
That was fun.  

I felt remarkably unsafe. 

He was also very vague. 

Like, Dude, don't say "Sunday driver…" without specifying if I am being one, or should be. 

He claimed I was speeding and gave me a mockingly presented pop quiz at the end.  
I'm a pretty cautious driver for obvious reasons, so no, I was not speeding at any point.  
He also told me I was way too cautious.  
THAT one, I'll believe. 

He wouldn't even look at my mother, who had to basically chase him down to ask if I passed. 
His response?  "She needs work."

After about a month of me never wanting to try again, my well meaning parents sent me off with an instructor about two weekends before my second road test. 

To clarify, I did pass it on the third try.

This particular driving lesson went so poorly that it ended with my sobbing hysterically.  

Oddly enough, not at all due to driving.

Before we even started, I got a call from the driving instructor-man saying that he was looking on google, but couldn't figure out where my house was.  
I did my best to explain, to which he responded, "I KNOW the area." 

...Like, okay dude.  If you know the area, why are you having a problem? 
The houses are clearly numbered and otherwise it's kind of just us and deer, but whatever.

Anyway, he came to the house to pick me up and drove the car to the lot where he would, in theory, have me drive. 

Again, the driving was not the part that flipped me out.

In fact, the only driving he had me do initially, was weaving around parking spaces. 

I did this while he occasionally slapped my hand, not entirely explaining why, and then saying things like, "You looking to get slapped??" and "You wanna get hit, dontcha??" and then laughing, like this is a funny thing to say after I've already told him that, no, seriously, I'm a survivor of abuse and that's kinda entirely triggering, so please don't.

He tried to fix it by saying I could slap him back, and then holding out his hand and forcing me to slap it, even after I told him that it made me reeeaaaallllly uncomfortable. 
Also, fun fact, I have cartilage where there should be bone in my wrist. 
REALLY hurts when hit, even as a light slap. 

Also, grabbing my hand is a terrible plan because of that. 

Just sayin'.

Still did not cry here.

That part was all preempted by him saying, "I'm going to be a male, chauvinist pig for a second," and then just asking me really politely if I know how they train for football. 

Dude, you wouldn't have come across as a jackass if you had just asked the question or talked about the training outright, without announcing that you are, in fact, a jackass.

I must have done something right though, as he then had me go on to phase two. 
Keep in mind, the first HOUR of instruction was him driving around town mumbling things as he thought of them, calling this a "demo" like that would at all be helpful to me. 

I chalked it up to the fact that he is probably eight thousand years old.

Part two involved him making me FLOOR the gas and then wait until he told me to STOMP on the break. 

Everything about this was terrifying and extremely dangerous, yet I managed to not cry at this point. 

I did, however, consider calling someone to pick me up, or just the police, because clearly I was trapped in a car with a lunatic.

He said this was to teach me what it felt like, in case it ever happened. 
…Wouldn't I know what it felt like if I ever had to do it? 
And WHY do this for the person WHO ALREADY SAID SHE HAD BEEN IN MULTIPLE ACCIDENTS???

And yet still, I had not cried.

At this point, he decides I'm ready to drive home. 
Two hours have almost passed, and I have done NOTHING that I wanted to do, such as things that are actually on the road test.

By telling me I'm going to drive home, what he meant was that my feet would control the gas and break, but his hands would never leave the steering wheel… 

So, this old man is like, draped across my freaking lap to control the car, questioning why I'm trying to fight him when we are veering on top of the line on my side, and otherwise coasting with the wheel RIGHT next to the line… 

I'm just waiting for the left mirror to get clipped off, really.

THIS is when I start crying. 

A lot. 

He tells me not to be embarrassed, and that HE isn't scared. 
If he was scared, after all, he wouldn't have let me drive home.

…He didn't see me doing ANY driving. 
NONE. 
And I did NOT care if he was scared, nor was I embarrassed.

He also used the word "angsty" when I asked to pull over.

I explained to him that I was afraid of getting hit, and that was why I was crying. 
He told me not to be afraid, and that no one was going to rear end us. 
I explained that, no, I was afraid of HIM hitting me.

I felt unsafe IN the car.

He laughed. 
Then he said he was sorry and that he didn't mean to make fun of me. 

I don't even know what he meant by that.

By the time we got home, he decided not to let me do the parking in front of Rob's car, and to instead demo how easy it is.  

He did what could only be described as a twenty point turn, and actually backed into Rob's car.

There was no damage, though the license plate did make a satisfying pop noise, as if to say, "HA, you asshole."
EDIT: No, his license plate did actually pop off soon after.

He then proceeded to tell me that he'd be calling my mother to tell her I did a great job (I’m a grown ass woman.  I'll call my own damn mother) and he let me know that I'm totally not ready for the test and I would fail it if I took it now.

…Gee, thanks, guy-who-didn't-see-me-drive-and-instead-just-freaked-me-out.

Our interaction ended when he reminded me that we had been together for two hours and that his price is $35 an hour, but that I could pay any time, and he's not worried.

I told him I didn't think I could handle another day of that right away, and that I wanted to cancel the 9:30 for the next morning, but maybe see him for a three point turn and parallel parking sometime next weekend.

He looked at me like I was a moron, handed me a piece of paper that reads "How to parallel park for the road test" and then said he'd see me at 9:30 the next day.

I went upstairs. 

Rob was taking a nap, as he still wasn't feeling well all weekend. 
I tried to hook a right to the bedroom, and instead flopped down on the floor by the door and just started ugly-sobbing.

There was so much snot.

Rob didn't wake up, but Perry recognized the sound of hysterical tears, and so burst through his doorway with a box of tissues.

I literally cried on Perry's shoulder for a half hour. 
He's a trooper, really.

Rob woke up around then, and I had calmed down enough to be coherent about what had happened. 
This was a good thing, as Rob's instinct was to panic and think I was in some way physically hurt.

I was still hyperventilating every now and then, but not to the point of a full blown panic attack.

I contacted my parents, explained what happened, and they laughed at me, telling me to suck it up. 

Rob then called my mother (Why is everyone calling my mom for me??) to explain that we would not be seeing the man again. 

My parents then said, "OH!  We're sorry.  We just thought she was exaggerating and being dramatic.  We didn't realize she was actually upset!" because my word means nothing.

…This may explain how my life has gone the way it has, actually.

So, Rob took over helping me polish everything up, driving wise, though I was kind of a wreck all Sunday. 
Rob and Perry are both endlessly patient.

For the record, I did not pay the driving instructor man.
EDIT: My parents still paid him.

I did sort of get an apology from the driving man, through him calling my mother (he did have MY number, but whatever) and saying that he was sorry he upset me.  

He figured it was because of the gas and break exercise.

While that was stupid and dangerous, it was not at all what freaked me out. 

Which, you know… I told him.

In detail. 

Seriously. 

I swear I told him what the problem was.

Is there just something about me that completely invalidates
everything I say about my own anxieties?  Because what the Hell?

*Ahem* So.

Good times.

In any case, I was pre-freaked out for the second test based on that instructor and the first time I took the test, so I actually went SO SLOWLY that I had trouble getting up a hill. 

The third one I actually passed, and I wonder how much of that was due to the fact that
A. I just gave no shits anymore. I just wanted it done forever, and
B. the person grading was a woman about my size. 

There is something extra creepy about being a survivor and then being trapped in a car with an older man and having to take all of his orders.  
In essence, that was what the test was for me over and over. 

BUT it's done.  

So.  


Good. 

Driving the Point Home

A question was posed in my Psychopharmacology class that I felt merited some consideration on my part.  

We were talking about why someone might fail to take their medication, or continue to say they're having significant problems when they aren’t.  
The question was “What is the gain from remaining sick?”  
This can obviously be answered in many ways, depending on the circumstance.

I began to think about this in terms of my own life and my own struggles with my fears and with a failure to drive. 

 If I don't try, I can't fail, right? 

This logic never worked in any other area of my life, so I'm not sure why I thought it would with driving, other than the fact that I did mostly have other ways around. 

Let's face it. 

I don't leave my home very often, and would generally prefer to be some kind of happy recluse, but I understand that this isn't a reasonable possibility. 

I also feel guilty now that I don't live by a bus line and occasionally need to carpool or outright ask people for rides, as I can't currently afford to take cabs everywhere while in the unpaid internship... 

Externship... 

Whateverthefuckship. 

In any case, I've been attempting and mostly failing to prioritize my health, and instead I've been obsessing over something that is generally not seen as a big deal. 

More than that, it is generally seen as a wonderful thing. 

For me personally, passing the test means that I now don't have to retake the permit test, which would have been embarrassing. 

I don't have to have the strange looks when I have a non-driver ID instead. 

I don't have to have anyone questioning how I function in life, just because they are too unimaginative to think of living without a car in my situation. 

I wanted to be proud of myself too, but I'm having trouble with that. 

I think the issue is that I really had no desire to do it at all, so rather than feeling accomplished, I just feel like I gave in. 

I did this thing that I had no desire to do, just because someone else told me to do it. 

Christ. 

How much of my life has been like that? 

 

Still, having passed is great, if only for the wait for the next one to now be gone forever. 

The pressure each time was slowly killing me. 

It became everything. 

It took over every aspect of my life with the sheer power of not-want. 

I just don't want to think about it anymore. 

Passing means I don't have to worry about the test, but now I have the car I can't afford, the insurance, the upkeep, the responsibility, and the assumption that I will drive. 

Now, it has become an issue if I do have the audacity to ask for help. 

After all, I can drive. 

Everyone involved seems to think passing the test has immediately cured me of my not-want. 

It did not, just as doing any other terrible thing forever doesn't automatically make people Stockholm-syndrome themselves into loving the thing. 

Now, I just have more questions, more pressure, and I fear that I'll wind up on the side of the road sobbing and hysterical, missing my appointments that were otherwise never an issue to get to on time. 

I guess any lingering depression winds up more apparent when it's on me, rather than being able to say, "Well, better get going so my ride doesn't get upset."  

 

I feel like I'm constantly letting everyone down either way, or that there is something significant wrong with me, beyond all the things that have actually made my life harder. 

It's frustrating to note that the things I actually want to work on and struggle with are somehow not good enough to those around me. 

I fully realize that I am not those people, but some solidarity would be nice. 

I have found myself falling from pushing on and through and up, to just wanting to be left alone to rot. 

Of course, my Knight in Pinstripes and my very good friends ARE supportive and would never let me do that to myself, as much as I may try. 

Still, this is upsetting because I understand that it has all been hinged on this idea of having a car and driving and freedom in this lonely, expensive, wasteful death machine. 

Again, Rob is all for carpooling and is steady in his belief that I should not have to drive if I do not want to. 

He generally believes I shouldn't do ANYTHING that I don't want to do, but again, that means I would do... pretty much nothing. 

Ever.  

Sometimes, I pretend that I want to drive. 

Sometimes, I pretend that I am already someone who drives. 

It is a fun fantasy, but ultimately leaves me feeling empty, realizing I am lying to myself because I feel like I am worth less than I would be as a driver. 

I feel like while I've been told I am not, I must certainly be a burden, and something to be ashamed of. 

Otherwise, why would any of this have come up at all? I wind up wallowing in everything else I've been trying to fix, just to have this barrier of, “No, look. I'm too sick. I can't drive because I'm too sick.” 

I've been self sabotaging and ruining so much of my health, both physical and mental, in an effort to convince those around me that I am sick enough to not do this one thing that I have never done before anyway. 

 

All that having been said, I did face my fears. 

And now, I have it, whether I ever use it or not. 

These are things I CAN be proud of, because they were important to my growth as a person. 

That is the most important part.

And... I actually do like the car.  Well, when it starts up, anyway.  

I call it The Grey Ghost, and I understand that my aversion to driving is not the car's fault. 

...My tendency to personify objects a bit probably doesn't help the guilt though. 

Just sayin'.

The Hubcap Massacre

Yesterday was a scary driving day. 

I still didn't do any of the things I assumed I was going to do by now…

Like hit a bird,

or get smashed by a deer,



or destroy a mailbox,



and I haven't even knocked a side-view mirror off yet! 
 

YAY!

However, it IS Winter,
and the roads look like a giant infant took a hammer to them.
 

My father had trouble with a few potholes recently, so you'd think I would have seen this coming.

NOPE. 

Mom, after the fact, said she saw it… but we're going to ignore how that would have been nice to mention BEFORE I hit it.  Mom. 

*ahem*

So, I whacked a giant hole in the ground and while it sounded scary, most of the road had sounded scary, so I didn't think much of it. 

There were also so many potholes, some of which stretched across the whole area, so it was difficult to avoid them. 

Usually I'm the only one making horrible noises while I drive, but this time Mom chimed in.
 

You know that noise Lucile Ball makes on I Love Lucy? 
It was like that.  

Every.  Time. 

Still, not nearly as bad as the noises my father makes as soon as I get behind the wheel at all.  

Seriously, I could be parked and he'll still hit the imaginary brake on his side.

Anyway, I didn't know anything was horribly wrong until I went into a "lane" over on the side, thinking a car in front of me was in a turning lane, rather than, you know, parked.

Then another car came up next to me in the correct lane. 

I figured I was trapped and Mom and I would have to eat parts of the car to survive until we were rescued from my stupidity.

The man in the other car honked, which I assumed was an angry honk. 

It was not. 
I rolled down the window and he mentioned that our hubcap (read: Mom's hubcap that I slammed off of her poor car) was by the town hall, in a snow bank. 

Thank you, Stranger-Man. 

I had this weird swell of embarrassment from having been driving around with only three hubcaps. 

I pictured getting laughed at by more fashionable drivers.

Because Mom mentioned that I need to be careful with the next potholes so as not to damage the tire, my severe lack of car-knowledge showed.  

I was under the assumption that the hubcap was usually bolted on, keeping the tire in place. 
 

I imagined the tire now flying off without it's metal seat belt, and me going to some kind of car-jail for committing tire manslaughter. 

Anyway, Mom found the hubcap after wandering around a bit. 
 



This brings up a few questions. 

Did it fly off of the car into the snowbank? 

Did the kindly neighbors take the time to get out of their car to pick it off of the road and leave it where we could find it? 

Did they follow us that whole way to tell us, or was it by chance that they happened to see a car missing a hubcap later on and fill in the blanks? 

Either way, Mom and I weren't entirely positive we could put it back on right then and there, so she just plopped it in the car. 

I was still a little shaken by "OH MY FUCK I BROKE YOUR CAR I'M SO SORRY" so I asked her to do the driving until our next errand was done. 

I've been calling that my first accident just because I want that part of my life to be over with and it didn't involve anyone else being damaged.

Let me think this. 

Shhh...

Wednesdays and Driving Like an Adult

I should start this off by mentioning that I wrote this on a Wednesday, yet I'm posting it a day later at around eleven something PM.  
That should give you an idea of how Wednesdays go for me. 
 
I'm becoming like a syndicated cartoon strip, with how much I hate Wednesdays. 

I still have to take the road test to get my license (and get a car) and Wednesdays are the day everyone seems to be most busy. 
This year, I've had class every Wednesday. 
This means, every Wednesday has been me totally alone…
 

and then suddenly off to school.
 

This wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't had the anxiety issues and all that.
I wound up just kind of doing nothing all day every day last semester, unless I had somewhere to be.  

I was fine once people were home… but yeah.  It was a pretty bad semester. 
 
Of course, next week will be awful, even though Rob is home all day, but that is for the opposite reason.
 
Bored is awful.

Busy is awful. 

Next week, we have a meeting together, then I have an interview in another town, and then I have class. 

Why does everything have to happen on Wednesdays?
 

Either way, I am aware that I need to start driving.  

This need does not change the fact that I don't want to and have never really wanted to.
Owning a car sounds awesome, without the insurance costs and all that. 
I just don't wanna drive it. 

To alleviate my automatic fear, I tend to make Mario Kart-like noises, especially on turns.
 

…

They can't fail me for that on the road test, right? 

I will say, I'm not an awful driver, despite my fear.  

I even avoided an accident yesterday when a woman came peeling out of a side street without looking.
 

I'm not afraid of dying in a car, by the way.
I'm afraid of being maimed.  Losing a limb… 

Hurting the car someone else owns is also on that list of fears. 
 

*sigh*
…
I hate Wednesdays.