I do presume.

Originally posted on Mighty Optical Illusions

“And where did you meet Gerald Reeves?”

We sat in a booth, on strawberry clouds with form after form and my driver’s license littering the table, speckled with dry tea. Placemats for coloring. Coloring for postgrads.

I adjusted the lining of my ruched black skirt. “You look quite nice.” “Thanks, James.” Previously I made another “last” visit to my place of study, to sign yet another form. Hopped on the bus with Jim’s last dime, waited in their marble suite with a raspberry soda in hand, and said goodbye to another prospect as a legal assistant in the antiquated convenience they call Downtown. My favorite work shirt hasn’t been ironed since.

“We met on the bus.”

Keeth chuckles in Irish mirth, motions to the Oreo Crumble and asks me how I like it. Applying for serving and barista positions certainly carries its perks. Peppermint mochas, green tea lattes, milkshakes and slices of mousse cake. On the house, as I scrambled for cash to stay in the laundry room of a friend’s.

Gerald convinced me serving was an art, that rewards follow refinement. Humanities degrees aren’t useless. They supply fodder for conversation. And this clientele, they’ll pay for fodder. Most are cops who come for the free coffee anyway.

He was only thirty-eight and claimed to work six days a week, seven if lucky. $500 a night since age seventeen at the same place. A different picture on the wall for twenty-four months straight. Two dozens’ worth of the “greatest employee we ever had.”

***

“He’s full of shit.”

I folded my hands over my apron, still boxy with tucked away tips. This was reprieve from the usual talk with disgruntled aunts at call centers. But a date would soon follow. “To be fair, you meet ’em on the bus.” “Thanks, James.” My disappointments with men aren’t worth speaking of as of today. Probably a good thing.

“You can really make good money, if you work the long hours and are fine with kissing ass. I mean, Gerald is going to retire. He put a good deal into an IRA Roth and some other stuff. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Must be nice to live at home. What kind of parents charge rent nowadays?”

“Mine.”

“Well, that’s you.”

Presumptions flutter and stand by our doors. The easy-to-access two-by-four they say to beat intruders with if you don’t have a gun. People you don’t know.

***

It’s very much like saying only dirty kids get lice, and I’m only reminded of a bubbly cop I really enjoyed pouring sweet tea for, until he offhandedly said that people get arrested for a reason, that trials were a waste of time. Yes, if they’re prolonged. “Innocent until proven guilty?” I quipped. “The arrest indicates guilt. Nine times out of ten.” “So what about that ten percent?” “Well, they sure did something.”

Sometime in 2010, or 2011, Justin Bieber told Rolling Stone that rape was a sad thing. Something along the lines of not liking abortion, that yeah, it’s really sad when a woman has a baby by rape, but “everything happens for a reason.” Well, yes. But what are you implying about the rationale? Is every reason justified?

Three weeks ago it was asked if I had an eating disorder. Anyone who lives with me would laugh at the question. I think Ren would be pissed. And today it was asked just how much I allocate for groceries. “How do you afford to get everything from Whole Foods?”

For the past five days, I’ve brought quinoa in a Tupperware, a bag of avocados, and mangos to spare. Put these together, glaze it with salsa, and you’ve created a filling salad.

All from an inner-city grocery store for less than fifteen bucks. And there’s enough to last for the week ahead.

Not that Whole Foods is bad. I love salmon jerky and matcha green tea powder. And if I can’t get matcha online, I’ll go to Whole Foods.

***

Perhaps I am oversensitive. But after a while, comments like this are no more grating than belittling someone for moving to Austin, “where affluent students panhandle.” Bring up the beauty of Portland, OR to hear similar scoldings from neighbors and friends. “A better Austin. Richer people.”

Today we sat through a sales pitch. Another local wholesale store hosting a membership drive, wedding cake, cookies, and photo packages lined on a table, set to tempt. They praised this part of town for its spending potential, family needs, consumers aplenty. And I turned to a coworker and whispered,

“Most people can’t afford to live here!”

“And really, he hasn’t done his research. Look at the study that made the paper. Where I grew up, you’ll find the greatest disposable income. It also costs the least to live there.”

I smile.

“Sorry. Just proud of my South Side is all.”

***

Turns out I’m already a member. Welcome to Costco. Not certain if I love you.

My plastic spoon sifts through quinoa in ways Rocky Road could never allow. But mousse-filled cake is always nice, chocolate chip and oatmeal comforts waiting in a brown paper bag should I seek them during break.

Another coworker apologizes for not inviting me to lunch.

“It’s okay.” I point to my empty tupperware. “Maybe next Friday.”

“I admire your discipline.”

Less than two years from my interview with Keeth, I’m finally working Downtown. Restaurants scream with specials and an authenticity I don’t entirely doubt. But even the doors of McDonald’s and Whataburger stand ajar and aloof, as lines stretch on and I only wonder how everyone dines inside and returns in due time.

Maybe I’m not so disciplined.

Perception reflects off each of our eyes. Myopia, astigmatism, and more. Not everyone needs glasses, but no one peers through a magnifying glass impervious to the drawbacks of subjectivity.

Looking Closer – 1962’s David and Lisa

 

Another praised work, the 1962 independent film David and Lisa, tells of two teenagers’ experiences in a mental health facility. David, ostensibly intelligent and precise in his mannerisms, is brought to by his overprotective mother. Lisa, a girl lacking comparable support, seems to show symptoms of disorganized schizophrenia. However, a closer look at patterns in her behavior suggests a different diagnosis. Though lacking insight into psychiatric treatments of the time, as well as providing an unrealistic, romanticized solution to the disorders concerned (i.e. “Love cures all”), the film, at best, adequately portrays symptoms most resembling obsessive compulsive personality disorder and dissociative identity disorder. For the purposes of this entry, DSM-IV criteria will strictly concern these conditions.

David, the son of unhappy, demanding parents, comes to the facility fraught with paranoia and anxiety. When approached and touched by another young man, David’s hands begin to shake. He screams repeatedly, “You touched me, you want to kill me!” This extreme reaction reveals the lack of social openness and rigid rules of social interaction typical of obsessive compulsive personality disorder. When others approach his room, David grows very worried that they will barge into his personal space. David’s painstakingly inflexible grip on personalized, irrational codes of conduct also manifests upon his refusal to engage in physical activity, claiming, “Exercise is for idiots.” These behaviors fall in line with criterion 4 of the DSM-IV-TR, summarized as holding rigid views of what actions are considered moral and ethical.

We see more of David’s dysfunctional personality in his interactions with Dr. John, the facility psychiatrist. Seeing an upset Lisa, David tells the doctor that he is authoritarian in his practice, and that dealing with Lisa in a permissive fashion would be more suitable for her recovery. He dedicates his time to studying, primarily focusing on clocks. This behavior meets DSM criterion 3 as David’s preoccupation keeps him from engaging in other activities. He is obsessed with the image of a ticking clock, a focal point in dreams. In slumber, David repeatedly pulls the hour hand of the clock to behead certain individuals 12 times.

Through dreaming and visualizing this punitive clock, David takes control as he pretends to rid himself of those who touch or distress him emotionally. We see this when Lisa, who touches David, becomes a victim of the clock. David’s preoccupation with details and order, as seen in his obsession with a clock that systematically kills those who upset him, meets DSM criterion 1 for obsessive compulsive personality disorder. Criterion 8, which concerns stubbornness, manifests itself in David’s objections to Dr. John’s questioning methods, refusing to comply and telling the doctor to “Don’t play Dr. Freud.” As David meets 4 of the 8 DSM criteria for obsessive compulsive personality disorder, this may be a suitable diagnosis. It is also important to note that David does not exhibit the ritualistic behaviors endemic to obsessive compulsive disorder.

Lisa, whose behavior primarily consists of clanging, is labeled by facility staff as an “adolescent schizophrenic.” Hints to her actual condition emerge when David confronts Lisa about her peculiar speech, claiming she speaks in rhymes to be “Lisa.” There are instances when Lisa does not speak at all, instead communicating with others through writing. We see this when she writes “PLAY WIT ME” on a piece of paper in order to catch David’s attention. Towards the end of the film, Lisa draws a circle with the words “MURIEL X LISA.” Outside of the circle are the words “ME.” When she adopts the persona of “Lisa,” she speaks in rhyme. However, as “Muriel,” she is unable to speak and can only convey her thoughts and requests through writing. Lisa is unable to be “ME,” her true self whose behavior is free of peculiarities. She expresses confusion regarding her true identity, repeatedly questioning David as to what kind of girl she is.

Earlier in the film, she shows difficulty in even identifying as female and exhibits two personalities, her identity as “LISA” the predominant persona. She experiences enough altered or dissociated states to receive a diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder (formerly identified as multiple personality disorder). The two personalities repeatedly dictate her actions, remembering her identity and current locale are difficult to impossible feats, and neither external medical illnesses nor mind-altering substances adequately explain her mannerisms. That being said, Lisa fits the necessary criteria for a diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder, rather than any type of schizophrenia the staff believes her to have.

David and Lisa, though overly sentimental and idealistic regarding the prognosis of serious psychological disorders, provides solid examples behaviors definitive of obsessive compulsive personality disorder and dissociative identity disorder. While David’s diagnosis is more easily determined, his behavior and mannerisms distinct and indicative of fixations on order and control, Lisa’s symptoms are frustratingly misleading. It is only when acknowledging her lack of hallucinations, her repeated questions of what kind of girl she is, and the diagram she draws that a more accurate assessment may be made. Viewers’ merely assuming that Lisa has schizophrenia would indicate a failure to look beneath the surface of her behavior, taking comments and stereotypes engrained in the film for granted. Mental illness in cinema, old or new, deserves close observation, and even a brief referral to outside sources for sound evaluation and hopefully, understanding that overrides stigma.