order-and-disorder

Her recent transformation had equipped Me with enhanced academic capabilities. This time, she would follow a perfectly normal student path: attending every single lecture like a dedicated scholar, studying steadily with the discipline of someone who had finally discovered proper learning techniques, instead of her previous chaotic approach of skipping classes for day naps and adventures with local pharmaceutical enthusiasts.

Best of all, she now had sufficient savings to pursue education without the vulgar necessity of employment! Her life had clearly been arranged to support this magnificent educational journey. But first, she needed official documentation of her exceptional neurological status.

She marched into her general practitioner's office for their inaugural meeting, radiating the confidence of someone about to receive professional validation of her unique cognitive architecture.

"Hi!" she announced brightly. "I just had a mental breakdown!"

The doctor blinked with the expression of someone who had expected to discuss seasonal allergies. "I see. Has this... never happened before?"

"Oh no, never! But I think I'm autistic," she declared with the enthusiasm of someone announcing they'd discovered they were secretly royalty.

"Hmm," he replied, studying her carefully applied makeup and coordinated pastel outfit. "You don't really look autistic though."

Fascinating! Apparently autism had a specific aesthetic she had failed to achieve. "Oh, well," she explained helpfully, "I did some screening tests online from private laboratories—"

At this exact moment, her digestive system chose to express its opinion with a rather emphatic fart.

She could barely refrain from giggling like a delighted child and somehow managed to carry on professionally until the end of their consultation. "—and I scored quite high on all of them. Same range, consistently."

"Yes" he said slowly, "maybe you are autistic."

"Why did you change your mind?" she asked, dissolving into actual childlike laughter.

"I don't know what you're saying..." he replied with the bewildered expression of someone whose medical training hadn't covered this particular diagnostic scenario. "Anyway, as an adult, I don't really know who to refer you to. Neurologist, maybe. Here's your prescription and some blood tests."

It took her several delightful days to decode the mysterious process of scheduling medical appointments—apparently, this required specific phone calls at precise times using particular bureaucratic language she had never been taught. But eventually, she mastered this adult life skill!

When she finally met the neurologist, practically vibrating with excitement about receiving official confirmation of her exceptional neurological status, the doctor seemed rather surprised by her request.

"We can't do those kinds of diagnoses here," she explained with professional bewilderment. "You should see a neuropsychiatrist."

Of course! Obviously, her condition required the most specialized expert available. This was clearly more sophisticated than she had initially realized.

After another few days of appointment-booking mastery, she decided to pursue private healthcare—because clearly, someone of her unique caliber deserved premium medical attention.

At the neuropsychiatrist's elegant office, she recounted the thrilling saga of recent months with the dramatic flair it deserved.

"You have been drugged!" the doctor exclaimed, displaying the kind of shocked recognition she had been waiting for.

"Yes, indeed! That's exactly what I suspected," she agreed triumphantly. "But the hospital doctors insisted this was impossible."

She elaborated on her fascinating life history: the challenging work environment, the complex family dynamics of her childhood—including that memorable incident when her mother had attempted to eliminate her during what could generously be called 'a momentary lapse of maternal judgment'—and mentioned her previous psychiatric evaluation that had somehow failed to detect any disorders.

"Let's start with some assessments" the neuropsychiatrist said, handing her what appeared to be a sophisticated psychological instrument.

She approached the questionnaire with the analytical precision of someone who had recently discovered they were exceptionally intelligent. But this proved surprisingly complex! When you're just beginning to understand that you're neurologically distinctive, every question becomes a philosophical puzzle about the nature of identity and social expectations.

Then she encountered this fascinating inquiry: Do you think you are part of a bigger community that supports you and makes you feel less lonely?

Wow! This was obviously asking about The Whole! But was she supposed to discuss her cosmic connections in a clinical setting?

"Oh my" she said, "this question... this was the entire theme of my epic leak adventure! What should I answer?"

"Do you still feel like that?" the doctor asked with professional interest.

"Mmm, no," she admitted sadly, "but I definitely miss it."

"Then the answer is no," the neuropsychiatrist concluded with clinical efficiency.

After completing the questionnaire, they engaged in further sophisticated discussion about her personal history. She shared profound insights like: "Of course I don't believe my mother loves me—she literally tried to kill me in a rage-induced episode. I would have to be genuinely insane to interpret attempted infanticide as maternal affection!"

"Okay" the neuropsychiatrist said, clearly impressed by her analytical capabilities, "you are definitely a person of exceptional caliber. Let's first assess your intellectual capacity properly." She scheduled her with the psychology colleague for comprehensive testing.

We must pause here in our narrative to explain a rather amusing misunderstanding caused by medical acronyms and her own sophisticated approach to healthcare navigation.

She had requested autism testing—a straightforward assessment of her obviously exceptional neurological architecture. However, through a delightful series of miscommunications involving abbreviations, referral forms, and her own charming assumption that all psychological testing was essentially equivalent, she had somehow enrolled herself in a comprehensive learning disabilities evaluation.

This meant that instead of receiving confirmation of her autism-related superpowers, she was about to undergo extensive testing to determine whether she was intellectually impaired.

The irony was absolutely delicious! Here she was, finally ready to claim her rightful place among the neurodivergent elite, and she had accidentally signed up to be evaluated for cognitive deficits.

But surely this would just provide even more dramatic contrast when her exceptional abilities were revealed! The psychologist would probably be amazed to discover someone so obviously brilliant had been misrouted through the learning disabilities department.

She could hardly wait to dazzle them with her newly recognized intellectual superiority. This was going to be the most entertaining diagnostic experience ever!

After all, what could possibly go wrong when someone convinced of their own genius accidentally wanders into an assessment designed to identify cognitive limitations?