Grated Cheese

No, I’m not going to make some esoteric comparison between grated cheese and some aspect of disability. This is simply a story about grated cheese.

To demonstrate that my stressed-out state heads more in the direction of depression than anxiety, I told my psychiatrist (not FabTherapist) about the following event:

Getting ready to make an omelet, I went to the refrigerator to fetch the sautéed vegetables I had, the already grated cheddar and other useful ingredients. The Ziploc bag of cheese was not where I’d left it. It wasn’t next to where I had left it. It wasn’t anywhere that I looked.

So, I sat down on the floor before the open fridge and sobbed. Inconsolably.

My psychiatrist said, “Well, that’s about your disability…”

Um, until that very moment, I hadn’t thought about it in those terms. I was just a person who couldn’t find something and had a very intense, dramatic response. Blindness had nothing to do with it. The thought, “If I could see, I could find the stupid cheese,” never crossed my mind.

The psychiatrist, though, went there immediately. I find that fascinating.

This entry was posted in It Happened To Me and tagged , , , , by Jen. Bookmark the permalink.

About Jen

After acquiring a degree from Vassar College in psychology, I moved to Western Mass where I ran a peer mentoring network for disabled college students as well as activism and organizing around disability issues. I also conducted research on disabled women’s body image. An Upstate New York native, I eventually followed my heliotropic nature to the sun of Southern California. I divide my time between writing (disability fiction and essays) along with moderating San Diego Bisexual Forum which is one of the oldest groups of its kind in the country. In my off hours I can often be found in my neighborhood live music venue enjoying our local talent.

2 thoughts on “Grated Cheese

  1. If only this therapist had been made out of cheese, you could have grated them over your omelet.

    Although that might have been as choking as what they said.

    Jeez-o-pete what a turd.

  2. Your therapist went there because that’s what HE would think of as frustrating.

    “I can’t find something, it must be because I’m blind.” What a maroon.

    To someone who has lived with a disability their whole lives, frustration isn’t due to the disability, it’s due to the situation itself. Stress.

    And yes, I’ve found your blog 🙂

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