What Testing Felt Like

I realize
This poem may be written from a point of view of someone that has been analyzed a lot.
Walk over here.
Get an xray of this.
Draw this
Count backward by seven from 100
You are too sensitive
You need therapy
Well if you are on medication already maybe you need another.

The testing room's walls bored me.
claustrophobia
Familiar looking boxes of subtests
Being asked to bare all
so I do
I cry and I know in the back of my mind
she will write this down in the report
But I can't stop it
This room is boring.
I'm missing work today
My foot is protesting and telling me to go to the doctor
and I don't know it now but tomorrow I will get a boot and miss a week of work, having to use my walker in the house
But right now my foot tells me
Don't sit too long, stand too long, walk too long
This test amplifies all of my disabilities
Why don't I just wear a sign that lists my difficulties for crying out loud.
At this moment I don't feel like my mother's daughter, a giving friend
a fun auntie.
I am a testing subject sitting in a room with no pictures on the walls, and maybe one window
performing tasks I have done before
getting frustrated and knowing I am being watched and judged for my frustration
But I cannot help it.
I bore all in that bare room with no hope
I kept it real and if it was below average, if I was too anxious
If I cried too much
That's how it was.
That's how I felt in that day in November, even if I didn't feel that way a week before.
Because the fact is, sitting in a small, nondescript room, answering questions about things I don't like to talk about, for hours, to someone I have never met, knowing how people perceive me
is difficult