Victories in Disguise

Part 2: January 17, 2015

Well, I didn’t come back with super powers.  That’s always disappointing.


When I decided I was going to turn my experiences with Mental Health America of Illinois (MHAI) into a writing project, I knew it would be a document written in installments like a journal.  Anticipating a second entry written after I attended the event, I already had an opening line picked out.  That line wasn’t about super powers, by the way.  The plan was to mirror the opening line of the first entry to create symmetry and aide the transition into the second.  Sounds perfect, right? 


So, what happened?


Well, life happened.  You see, one of my major difficulties in dealing with upcoming events or even conversations is that my brain tries to anticipate every conceivable outcome.  This, of course, is impossible.  My brain doesn’t care.  It just wants to plan for every eventuality it can to lessen the stress.  If I know what to expect or am familiar with the situation into which I’m going, the calmer I usually am when facing things that normally upset me. 


My writing group is a prime example.  I’ve been an organizer of Just Write Chicago for over five years now.  Leading a social group should be at the top of the list of things that make me dizzy, and sometimes it is.  It definitely was at the beginning, but my desire to stave off loneliness in a new city thankfully won out over my fears.  In time, it’s become just another routine part of my week despite the array of new faces I’m constantly meeting.  Once again, writing saves the day.


When something unexpected happens, as it always does, I’m left reeling in the chaos and my anxieties flare.  Angered outbursts, people responding to questions or comments differently than I imagined, even building layouts that differ from what’s in my head can bring me to a standstill while I try to process this new information.  I can feel myself literally pause for a second longer than usual while my mind scrambles to figure out how to respond.  It’s frustrating and embarrassing, which only serves to make the issue worse. 


I’ve mentioned in other writings how social anxieties are self-feeding.  The more aware of them I am, the more anxious I get and so on.  It’s why, when attending parties or other important social gatherings, I tend to be a wallflower so I can assess my surroundings at a safe distance.  I know this can make me appear aloof or cold-shouldered to the casual observer.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Like many a mouse discovered in kitchen cupboards, I’m more afraid of you than you are of me. 


It’s okay to say hi. 


In fact, it’s easier for me to talk with people when they initiate the conversation because it removes the uncertainty on whether or not I’d be bothering them if I greeted them first.  Fortunately, I’ve become aware of this issue as I’ve grown in my attempts to rein in my anxieties.  I’m even remembering to say hello first once in a while.  It’s a brave new world, folks.


The MHAI party to which I was expected to attend on this particular sunny Saturday in January caused me no less stress than my last job interview, which is to say I was mortified.  My primary method to reduce stress is perhaps the simplest.  I distract myself.  I often get lost in a book, watch a movie or, if I’m really in need of calming, an entire season of Community.  For this occasion, I watched all five seasons currently on Hulu during the two weeks prior to the event. 


I regret nothing.  That show is hilarious. 


Joking aside, I was clearly nervous about taking such a broad leap in openly discussing my issues with a crowd of strangers where video cameras might be involved.  When traditional distraction techniques fail, I’m grateful to say I have a new layer of support.  The majority of my anxieties come from worrying about whether or not people suspect I’m anxious.  It’s as consuming as it is exhausting.  So, as I’m growing bolder, I’m starting to tell new friends earlier and earlier about my social anxieties to reduce the probability of this occurrence.  It’s risky, but worth it.  As the bubble of who’s in the know grows, so do my options. 


A few people I’ve befriended from my writing group took me out the night before the event to celebrate the publication of my story specifically because they knew I was nervous.  We went to an arcade to play round robin pinball and have a couple drinks.  All in all, it was a low key evening topped off with an amazing late night chorizo omelet.  Although the arcade was crowded, I enjoyed myself and focused very little on what was to come the next day.  It was a kind act on the part of a group of people I didn’t know a month prior.  It was something I couldn’t have imagined possible while I was in high school and I am deeply grateful for their effort.


As fun and helpful as that evening was, it could do nothing to defend me against the anxieties that welled up once I made the decision to step out my door on Saturday and make my way to the party.  Leaving is often the hardest step.  I feel perfectly calm until I’m slipping on my jacket or grabbing my keys.  Then, the knots form in the chest and I feel that familiar flutter of moths in my throat. 


A door can be a frightening thing.  You never know what’s beyond until you open it.


Once I’m in motion, however, I tend to follow Newton’s first law and stay in motion.  This doesn’t mean I’m calm, just operating on automatic.  I let my feet take me where I need to go while I do some mental sleight of hand.  As with writing my novels, I’ve learned to focus less on the end of the story, which is so distant it seems impossible to reach, and more on the next scene, which is often a much simpler task.  Stepping out my apartment door is the first scene to conquer.  When that’s done, I worry about the next challenge.  Usually, it’s catching the bus or the train.  Then, I concerned myself with making whatever transfers were necessary and so on until all that was left was the doorbell on the two-story duplex at my destination.


Scary things, doorbells.