[completed] Nova Carter knows exactly what the next few years of her life will look like: she will work harder than anyone else (as she didn't get into New York University to slack off); she'll be keeping her head down and prioritizing getting her a...
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Chapter Nine | Motion Sickness
♫Motion Sickness by Phoebe Bridgers
Nobody ever really warns you about what it's like to be disabled— and have a slight speech impediment, nonetheless— in a new social sitting. Which makes sense, because who would even come up to you and tell you, hey, don't take this the wrong way but it's not very likely that someone's going to listen to you or take you seriously.
It's one thing to be bothered by it, but another to realize that no matter how many online tips and tricks you implement in the conversation, all people really see is your jerks whenever you move and the quivers and pulls of the corner of your mouth. They let you share your thoughts and suggestions and smile politely at your pathetic little jokes, but when it comes to actually listening to what you're saying or seeing you as you are beyond your odd quirks, you'll find that you don't really exist to them. Not as a fellow person or a fellow student, someone with depth and ideas.
I mainly notice in the way people interact with me versus their other friends or classmates. They're visibly restricted when they talk to me, softening their tone, picking out their words with a certain gentleness, not daring to have a real conversation with me by contradicting what I say or making jokes. I know that when they look at me they see sharp corners and edges and jerky movements and uncertain smiles, and I understand that they don't want to offend me or cross any lines, but usually, it doesn't feel like they're hanging out with me: it feels like they're babysitting me. Maybe it's so hard for me to make friends because people think being my friend means having to take care of me. The worst part is that it kind of does. I just wish that it didn't scare them away so easily.
I guess treating me like a child makes people feel like they're doing the right thing, like they're being thoughtful. But it makes me feel like shit (respectfully), and it's exhausting that instead of experiencing the feeling of belonging somewhere, I'm just made hyperaware of what people see, of everything that I struggle with daily, and made to feel bad about it as people underestimate and exclude me.
During my introduction week, I got sorted into what they called a work group and we had to conceptualize a video idea to find out what we had in common, and then pitch it to the class and film. They were talking so fast and excitedly and before I really knew what was going on, were exchanging instagram handles over the table top. When it was time to exchange ideas, one of the guys piped up, gave me an encouraging smile and asked gently what ideas I had. They were all extremely quiet as I spoke, their eyes didn't waver from my face once and they let me finish respectfully. It was kind, but they didn't ask for my instagram.
Just like, after we finished filming at Union Square and they'd handed me my phone back (because it had the best camera), they turned to each other, decided to go out for drinks and were gone in an instant. One of them had gone over the group and invited everyone individually but skipped over me, probably assuming I wouldn't say yes. I probably would've said no for plenty of reasons, but it would be nice to get invited. I ended up having to 'Google Maps' my way back to the dorms on my own and actually passed by the little lunch place they were having drinks at, saw them laughing and singing through the window and felt extremely bad for myself.
