I'm still very much angry at the fact that it took so long for people to finally figure out what, in hindsight, was pretty damn obvious all along. I often wonder what life would've been like had I been properly diagnosed as Autistic, and my anxiety/depression/PTSD had been treated early on with that knowledge. I often feel like I missed out on vital childhood and teenage experiences that, if properly diagnosed and treated, I could've enjoyed and been comfortable doing.

I wish I could've experienced a true sleepover in my childhood (instead of staying at the birthday till 10PM and being brought home for the night to do my CF treatments and get some downtime). I wish I could've kept a best friend or two all throughout gradeschool, instead of losing touch with my peers the second I left our school. I even wish I'd done some stupid shit as a teenager, such as sneak out to parties and egged rivals' houses. Hell, I almost wish I'd been caught doing that stupid shit as a teenager, just to experience was it was like to truly be in trouble: not because of social blindness or illness, but because of my own stupidity.

Growing up, I was fascinated by the tales of trouble my parents and grandparents told me from their childhoods.

I wondered what it felt like for my mom to sneak out of the house with her best friends (Priscilla and Jen), to go to rock concerts where they'd always find ways to meet their idols backstage. I tried (and failed) to imagine myself in my dad's shoes, when he was 15 years old and was caught drinking at a party, causing him to lose his spot as lead quarterback on his football team. I wish I had the balls my grandpa Lyle had when he inadvertently participated in North Dakota's first (and only) riot that officially deployed the National Guard (he left before it got too crazy, but he couldn't resist throwing a few beer bottles into one of the bonfires in Zap before fleeing the National Guard in his '65 pickup). I still admire my grandma Debbie for regularly going on joy-rides through Denver as a 14 and 15 year old, never once getting caught by the police or her parents (she must've been an amazing driver back then).

Instead of following in the footsteps of my dangerously rebellious parents, who got that rebelliousness from their parents, who got their rebelliousness from their parents, so on, I turned out to be simultaneously the scariest and most boring Nibbe Reinhardt of them all! I was scary because of all the times I almost died, but was boring because none of my near-death experiences were my fault. The scariest moments of my teenage life were spent playing World of Warcraft in my hospital bed, periodically leaning over the trashcan at my bedside to puke up my intestines because the hospital overdosed me on Bactrum on an empty stomach.

Yeah, my parents never had to worry too much about me outside of the hospital and doctor's visits. 

Now, as an adult with a very well-behaved tween brother, I sometimes wish he was a little more wild just so I could get a taste of what a "normal" teen looks like. But, at the same time, I'm glad he's too invested in sports he's obsessed with to do what so many of his peers are doing. If I want to get a glimpse into the life of a "normal" teen, I'll have to go to Utah, where my mom's best friends are both having to grapple with their wild and angsty tweens and teens.

To be entirely honest, after spending a pandemic summer with them, I'm glad my household is not ravaged by hormone-crazed teens and terribly-behaved dogs. Mom also regularly reminds me how much she appreciates how well-behaved my brother and I am. Yes, we have our bad days and disagreements. But, none of us has even come close to ending up in the hospital, the psyche ward, or with police on our doorstep as a result.

Still, I cannot deny the tiny, sick desire I have to witness such a major freak-out. Much like how so many people probably have that same little urge to experience what CF has put me and my family and friends through. It's that morbid little wish that makes us gawk at car accidents and natural disasters. It's that cat-killing curiosity that gets people to eat dog food or touch a candle flame just to experience those things. We know, damn well, kibble probably tastes like shit and a candle flame will burn our finger. But, we try these things anyway, because we're curious creatures that just have to experience it ourselves. 

That's how I feel whenever I look back on my life, and lament over the fact that I've never purposefully tasted alcohol, or snuck out my bedroom window to go raise hell with my stupid friends, or thrown snowballs at random passing cars, or spray-painted a dick on one of the concrete pillars holding up the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. I sometimes just fantasize about doing things like that as a tween and teen, instead of spending those years too scared of people to walk my dog around the block by myself, and going to the hospital at least once every two months so I wouldn't die of a condition nobody asked for.

Even now, the most rebellious thing I do is park my Xterra on snowdrifts in the college parking lot while making direct eye-contact with a campus police officer (who clearly don't care, because they've never done or said anything to me. Well, that's not true. A cop did pull up next to me while I was walking to the building just to tell me he liked the color of my Xterra, never mentioning the fact the damn thing was on a snowdrift). But, I'm still too much of a wuss to drive on I70 for just a quarter mile, and I almost cried when Dad took me on I70 in the jeep for the first time. 

I guess I've just had too much excitement in life to liven things even more by being reckless and stupid. Depending on who you ask, this is either a very good thing or a very sad thing. Me? While there are some perks to being a goody-two-shoes, I still feel sorry for myself for being too anxious to have let loose just once in life.

That, and I really do feel suppressed in many ways. I often question if my interests, way of life, beliefs, fashion sense, social needs, etc. are a trauma response, or just the way that I am. I mean, I'm going to be twenty-one in a few months, and I still have zero interest in sex or finding a romantic partner. I've never felt even remotely sexuality attracted to anyone ever. Is my apparent asexuality a result of twenty years' worth in bullshit, and when I peel back the layers I'll suddenly have the desire to find love and start a family? Or was I just born destined to be the "cool aunt" with heated toilet seats instead of kids? 

Also, what if my mom is right, and I wear hoodies and jeans to "hide" rather than wear them because I like them? What if I don't like people invading my personal space unless I give them permission, not because I like having space to breathe and move around, but because I'm subconsciously afraid of everyone who comes near me? What if I don't like high-frequency noises because they cause physical pain for me, but because they actually remind me of the alarm bells at the hospital? On and on. 

Questions like these have gotten in the way of me embracing myself and my identity. If I can't even tell if who I am is a trauma response or just...well...me. Then how on God's green earth can I even begin to heal and learn to love and embrace myself and my differences? What if all I am today is just 135 pounds of PTSD? What if I really am just an extroverted, girly city girl who's hid behind the facade of a redneck hermit all these years? What if, what if, what if...

Logically, I know those questions are ludicrous. I'm quite confident in the person I'm turning out to be, in a lot of ways. I'm pretty sure I know what I like and don't like, and most of what I like and don't like have nothing to do with what I've been through.

I don't wear camo hoodies and jeans everyday because I want to hide from everyone. If anything, I stick out like a sore thumb in most places because of what I wear. I don't like the city mostly because I just...don't like the city. I'm not a partyer or a socialite. I don't like shopping for expensive designer clothes and driving the newest, most stylish cars on cramped streets. I don't like the idea of living in a building with hundreds of other people. I don't like constant traffic and human noises. I like to see deer and bald eagles every now and then. Not because I'm traumatized out of the city life, but because I just connect to nature better. 

Sure, trauma and anxiety might play a part in my dislike towards the city life. But, it's not the main reason. I don't like certain aspects of the rural life either, especially since my views of the world are often drastically different from the views of those who have lived their entire lives in a town of less than 10,000 people. That, and the idea of not having more than one grocery store within 100 miles of my house kind of bothers me. I can stand the extreme rural life for a couple months. But, even I need some sort of civilization every now and then. After all, I do love the diversity the city has to offer. And, I don't think rural grocery stores have sushi.