OCD, The Dude, and Me
Page 3
I’m so worried that when I take the SATs again, I will do what I did on my Algebra II test last week. I saw question #1 and thought “What if I just stare at this page for the whole test?” “What if I just think about staring at this test the whole time while I’m staring at this test the whole time?” “What would happen if I stared at this test the whole time?” “How would someone intervene?” “Would they intervene?” “What will the score that I get on this test really mean?” “Why does this test matter when it just gets thrown away and turns into garbage?” “How come it means something now but doesn’t have any meaning in a month after the grades are posted and it does become garbage?” “Why did we make up this system?” “Who did make up this system?” “Why can’t I stop coming up with questions in my mind?” Anyway, you get the point.
Teacher comments: Stay calm. If you are going to be up for the challenges that college present, you have to be up for the challenges that filling out the applications present. Avoiding those challenges is not a good idea.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 11/18
Essay #7: The Importance of Rules
(My least favorite essay topic to date. The whole class, all thirty of us, had to write this essay after a small group of people were late coming back to the bus after seeing an exhibit at the Santa Monica Pier. Heather, Sara, James, and John should have had to write this essay and the rest of us should have just made fun of them, but that didn’t happen because they are popular and that’s just one of the important rules of life: popular people have a get-out-of-jail-free card, which is literally true for O.J. Simpson, according to my father. Credit for completion on this one.)
Daniel Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
Rules are super important. Without rules, there would be chaos. Because some people at the History of Thanksgiving exhibit today didn’t follow the rules, there was chaos. Heather, Sara, James, and John (two popular couples, as you know) spent way too much time fooling around on the pier and then sauntered back late to the bus carrying French fries. The rest of us had to wait on the bus, and Ms. Harrison (as you know) was really angry because first she couldn’t find the missing kids because of all the tourists walking about and all the swooping seagulls, but also she was afraid we would hit rush-hour traffic and then not get back to school on time. Kids breaking rules was going to cause the teacher to break a rule, which I guess is that if you take kids on a field trip, you have to get them back to school before the bell rings.
As a woman of sorts myself, I am glad there are rules, honestly. Sometimes when I am really upset I want to do some truly socially unacceptable things that I would carry out if there weren’t real life consequences for my urges. So rules are good to protect me from doing things that would harm others or me or just embarrass me. For instance, last month there were about two days that I just wanted to cry over everything.
I was shopping with my mom at the grocery store, and this model woman and her beautiful daughter came up to talk to my mom. I guess my mom sold them a house, and so they were very friendly. When my mom introduced me to them as her daughter, they both had this sort of shocked look on their faces like they couldn’t believe I was Evelyn’s daughter. I pulled my stretchy hat down over my eyes to try to avoid their gaze, but my mom gave me a nudge, which meant she wanted me to try to be social. I’m sure it is hard for my mom in situations like this. She didn’t know when I was a tiny, cute baby that I would grow up to be an ugly teenager. Anyway, these chicks really were disgusted with me, and I just wanted to punch them in the face, and I think I might have if there weren’t laws to prevent me. (Although, there should be laws preventing people from looking at you in a disgusted way just because you aren’t pretty.)
I imagined myself grabbing a bunch of food from the frozen food aisle and whizzing it at their perfect little noses and breaking them. I wanted the girl to have to go to school with a big swollen nose and a big black eye. That really isn’t a very nice thing for me to think. But thank goodness there are rules in this world and because of that I didn’t mess up those women’s faces.
Teacher comments: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Danielle. You are too hard on yourself.
*SECRET ME-MOIR ENTRY* 11/30
Secret #3: My F’d-Up Meeting with Marv
We had Thanksgiving break and I stuffed myself silly. It was awesome to see Aunt Joyce and spend the whole time watching Masterpiece Theater and old BBC videos, which inspired us to speak with British accents all weekend. I did not think that when I came back to school Ms. Harrison would remember that she wanted me to see Marv, the school psychologist. But apparently the woman has a memory like an elephant.
The day we got back to school, I had to wait outside Marv’s office for everyone and their mother to see me. First, Sara walked by after being in the nurse’s office, her second home, and as she limped by she piled all her brown hair on the top of her head as if its weight on her shoulders was simply too much to bear. She let out a sigh and gave me this obnoxious look of “just what are you doing here?” because, I swear, she has marked the counseling and nurse’s offices as her private territory. So now I guess she thinks I’m trying to steal her medical staff. Hardly.
Jacob took some note to the front office and saw me sitting there wearing my gray fedora and he said, “nice hat,” but what’s terrible is that I was reading Jane Eyre, and Jacob is not stupid. I’m sure he found it laughable that someone like me would lose myself in such a novel. I will be no one’s Jane Eyre. (Well, I might end up like the Jane Eyre of the first half of the novel, who works as a nanny and takes abuse from the dark and troubled hero. But I can’t imagine that I’d ever reach her level of redemption.)
I finally got into Marv’s cramped office and had to sit on the only chair available: a red one shaped liked a giant hand. So weird. The chair made me feel like a dwarf, but the small room made me feel like a giant. My equilibrium was way off. He sat behind his desk and didn’t say anything forever. So awkward. I felt compelled to speak.
“So who is that hippie with the clown nose?” I asked about one of the framed posters on the wall.
“Oh, that’s Wavy Gravy. You know him?” I shook my head. “He’s an activist hero of mine. When I was a kid, this guy was fighting to make a better world. He got beat up by the authorities so often he decided to become a clown. What a genius reaction. Inspiring, right?”
I didn’t understand but I said yes just so we could move on. I stared at my confused reflection in the giant peace-symbol mirror Marv had behind his desk and tried to change my expression to a look of intense interest. I picked up one of the pet rocks he had on his desk and nodded in approval. Who knows of what. I was improvising.
Marv finally said, “I know I’m not much of a hippie on the outside. Good haircut, collared shirts, and ties are the rules of the job, but inside, my heart is all Wavy Gravy.”
“Mmm. Nice. I think I’ve had his ice cream.”
From that strange moment, Marv commented on how unique it was that I italicize all the vocabulary words in my English essays. I let him think it was unique instead of telling him I have to or something bad might happen.
Then he saw my copy of Jane Eyre and complimented me on my high-brow literary tastes. He didn’t know that when I read such stories, I lower the brow. I picture the heroine as a girl with rolls and rolls of fat on her stomach and cellulite on her thighs and the hero, Mr. Rochester in this case, likes her anyway. I know enough not to throw my crazy front and center like that on a first meeting. I actually said very little to Marv and thought I made a clean getaway, but when I got home, I found out he talked to Mom: I have to join a social skills class and start taking yoga. Damnit.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 12/5
Essay #8: Movie Magic
(Apparently, not my best effort. D)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
This is a very broa
d topic, Ms. Harrison. I’m just saying. I’ve decided I’m going to tell you about something that happened to me recently with regard to movies. It stresses me out a little when I think about this incident, so I’ve put on my black combat Chucks while I write this essay because those give me a sense of control, albeit a false sense, I know.
I used to be allowed to order whatever films I wanted through my family’s online subscription. I am not allowed to do that anymore. What happened is not even really my fault, but my parents don’t see it that way.
I wanted to rent this Jake Gyllenhaal movie called Brothers after I heard Sara and Heather talking about how good it was. I had never heard of it, but the title made me think it was a nice family-type film. Also, I think Jake Gyllenhaal is super cute. He reminds me of a real life person, who, for reasons I can’t explain here, will remain nameless.
So, I rent Brothers. Did you know that some American movies are remakes of movies made in other countries? I had no idea until this unfortunate incident. Oh, I better explain something else to you, too. I am not allowed to watch super-violent movies. My parents are against me doing that, and, quite frankly, I’m just not the kind of person who can handle seeing disturbing, violent images on film. That’s a good FYI for you in case you were planning to show us any slasher films in class. LOL.
Brothers comes in the mail and I start watching it, and, to my shock, it’s in Swedish or Danish or some interesting language like that. I’m thinking, whoa, Jake Gyllenhaal is way smarter than I thought. So, I’m watching this movie and Jake is nowhere to be found, but I assume he’s coming up somewhere. But, some SUPER-upsetting moments happen while I’m waiting for his entrance. Just one example: one guy in the film is forced by a psychopath to kill his cellmate or else he will be killed himself. That is an impossible situation to be in and so horrific. I had a meltdown. I froze like a deer caught in headlights and then started breathing rapidly, and the movie kept playing and Jake never showed up, and I was watching the scenes while crying and stuff, but my eyes would not unglue from the screen no matter what. Eventually, I curled up in a fetal position. On top of that, I had left a baked potato in the oven and it was burning in there and I wasn’t even aware of that because of the trauma of the film.
My dad came home from work and saw the smoke in the kitchen and what was happening to me, and he sent me to my room. He got emotional over all my emotions. Bye-bye ordering-my-own-movies privileges.
Jake Gyllenhaal is in the American version of that movie, but I am not allowed to see it. My father had a long talk with me about reading the descriptions of the movies before they are ordered. That’s what responsible adults do. My father is very in to me behaving “like a responsible adult” and learning to understand myself better and knowing what I can tolerate. Believe me, I’m grateful that he is always trying to help me in this way, but it is stressful because, obviously, I don’t always live up to expectations.
So, then, I went through my parents’ movie collection and found Brokeback Mountain and watched that because I was in a Jake Gyllenhaal mood. If you haven’t seen that movie, OMG, it’s depressing. I cried during that one, too, but I did it quietly and watched it on my computer in my room surrounded by my hats, my snow globes, and all the postcards on my headboard. After the movie it took me days to hang my hats back on my wall in the right order and to categorize the snow globes as I wanted them. But, the effort was time well spent.
Mainly, that movie made me think about an article I read in an entertainment magazine. While his male costar was getting to fall in love and have a baby during the filming of that movie, Jake was breaking up with his girlfriend. That had to be really hard to handle in the moment, watching someone else be happy all the time. Jake couldn’t have known then that his costar was destined for such an early and tragic death. He couldn’t have conceived that life would do that to him. No one imagines such a thing. I am sure Jake is now walking around this planet ruined, and I ache for him. The wheel of fortune is unfathomable.
So, there’s movie magic for you. These particular movie experiences sent me for a whirl, for sure.
Teacher comments: Not the tone I was looking for. Please pay attention in class when I give the guidelines for the assignment or check them online before proceeding.
*SECRET ME-MOIR ENTRY* 12/6
Secret #4: Too Secret to Title
(So secret that I am hot while writing it, will die if ever read by another soul.)
I have no right to love Jacob Kingston, and the only thing that makes it acceptable in my own mind that I have these feelings is that they physically hurt. I think about him and my chest tightens, I can’t breathe, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.
Last year in U.S. history, our teacher assigned us partners to work with on a research project. Mr. Resurrection (that’s really his name) paired me with Jacob. I didn’t love Jacob then. I didn’t love anyone.
On the first day of the project, while we were poring over the handouts, Jacob looked up from his stack and said, “You have really cool green eyes.” That one sentence started all this pain.
Jacob is the most popular, good-looking guy in the class. He is dating the most gregarious, generous girl in the class, but she is not the most beautiful—that’s Heather, the blond bombshell, who has told us a million times about how she’s been photographed for magazines. Jacob’s girlfriend, Keira, is tiny but athletic, and her short, thick black hair is a lovely contrast to her porcelain skin. Her cheeks and lips are naturally rosy, so she never needs makeup. Somehow, I love Jacob more because he loves Keira. I’m sure he loves how she laughs well and at all the right times, how her short hair can be styled in a million fun ways, and how she fits in everywhere. Keira includes people.
Last summer, I actually went to a pool party because a parent invited the entire class, and my parents forced me to go. I sat in a chair under a tree with my giant yellow sun hat tilted over my face for most of the day. When I was brave enough to look out from underneath its rim, I watched Jacob hold Keira on his shoulders in the pool while she shot everyone with a water gun. He was so careful with her, not wanting her to fall off or be uncomfortable. He held on to her so tightly. In that pool and all over campus, they appear to be one living being, the way couples are supposed to be.
Jacob is the quarterback of our football team, and God, that makes him even hotter. It’s so embarrassing to admit this but I bought a San Francisco 49ers’ snow globe because that is Jacob’s favorite team. I kinda hide that one behind the other twenty-seven in my room because it doesn’t fit in, and I don’t want anyone to ask me why I have a football team snow globe. Although, I could always tell people that several members of The Romantic Era were football players—it’s true—and that’s why I have that snow globe. That’s good thinking.
Jacob has beautiful wavy brown hair that I stare at in every class because how can I possibly avoid looking at him when there are only a dozen kids in each class and Cruel Fate scheduled me in every one of Jacob’s this year? Sigh. I would love to move my fingers through his hair; I picture doing that sometimes. His brown eyes are so big and kind and appear hungry for all there is to see. Someday, maybe my eyes will find a way to want to see all there is to see, too.
There are some days that I remember what Jacob said to me about my eyes, and I try to remember that for as long as I can instead of thinking about the thing I can’t ever forget. Some feelings are so big they will swallow you whole. You have to do something to protect yourself from the swallowing.
The knot in my stomach is bigger than ever.
*MENTAL HEALTH MISSIVE* 12/8
Letter #1 for the Commitment Hearing Committee (so they know what was the beginning of the end of any piece of sanity I had left in high school).
Dear Commitment Hearing Committee that is not currently real but could materialize should things get worse from here due to my social skills class.
A social skills class can really be of no benefit if everyone in the class has no vi
able social skills. Hasn’t some expert thought this through a little more fully? None of us is going to evolve into anything beyond our misfit selves if we have no one to emulate. I fear we will stay stuck as a sour group of potential.
I swallowed the lump in my throat for the entire two hours, and picked obsessively at loose threads on my red Chucks and my blue conductor hat, thinking just how far off course my life has gone that I’ve ended up here with these people in the basement of a dilapidated Presbyterian church whose membership is obviously dwindling. The fluorescent lighting made me feel like a criminal under interrogation.
I’ll just list the stats as they exist at this point:
Charles—stiff as a board, bug-eyed, monosyllabic, possible hermaphrodite, grunge-band-group wannabe.
Megan—very pretty but seems to have no idea about that, stares at floor or inside her sweater at all times, picks her fingernails or unravels sweater, speaks so quietly I can never hear her.
Andy—smells awful, really awful, makes me want to gag, probably just needs to be told to shower regularly, get a hair cut, and wear something other than all black and he may be functional out in the world.
Iggie—makes things out of paper the entire time.
Daniel—most normal member of group. He has awesome black hair that is just a little too long. I think he keeps it that way on purpose because when he gets all passionate about what he is saying he jerks his head dramatically and flips his bangs out of his face. He wore a flannel shirt over a Che Guevera print tee, black Chucks, and was obviously pissed about being in this class: I like him for all those things. I kept staring at him. I’m sure he thinks I’m a freak.