Victories in Disguise

Part 11: January 17, 2015 [5:00 PM]

Watch that last step.  It’s a doozy.


I was sitting in the living room on the sofa, clutching my bottle of water.  Most of the guests had either gone home or relocated to other parts of the house to socialize, leaving this room the most sparsely populated and, therefore, the most comfortable space for me.  Many of the chairs had been cleared away.  Those that remained were clustered into small circles, as they had been before the speeches and terrifying introductions.  Sitting across from me was a woman asking questions.


The topic was my social anxieties and she was incredibly curious.  This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.  She seemed nice, if not a little naïve about my situation.  Like many people, she was astonished to learn I have issues with social anxieties.  It seemed to be her sole mission after the group broke apart to seek me out and learn all she could.


More than anything, she wanted to know what it was like to live with anxieties.  It is not an easy question to answer.  Only people who have anxiety issues can really understand, but I think I came up with a suitable thought exercise to get her in the ballpark.


As I attempted to explain, it’s like vertigo; that feeling as if you’re going to fall when looking over a ledge.  This feeling creeps up on you even if you know you’re completely safe.  It is a reflex, a safeguard, of your brain to keep you completely focused on keeping out of harm’s way.  Basically, it’s the biological equivalent of that robot from Lost in Space.


“Danger, Will Robinson!  Danger!”


Functioning normally, this protective alert system is a handy addition to any bipedal brain-transportation vehicle.  It signals and you step away from the ledge.  Once you’re safe, the nervous sensation fades and you continue about your day.


Incorrectly installed, it’s far less useful.  Imagine, if you can, that sensation of vertigo.  Try to recall how it makes you feel.  There’s a tightness of the chest, lightheadedness, and the faintest illusion that you’re already falling.  Now, imagine vertigo comes over you whenever you see a precipice of any kind, regardless of whether or not you’re courting the edge.  You feel it when you encounter the stairs in your home.  It’s there when you notice the curb on the sidewalk or the height of a neighbor’s balcony.  You know you’re perfectly safe, but the alarm sounds anyway. 


Your heart flutters and your breathing hastens.  You’re not afraid.  You’re not panicking.  You just always feel like you’re falling.


Other people, even those in your own family, don’t seem to hesitate at the top of the stairs.  They run up and down them as easily as mountain goats in the Himalayas.  So, what’s the problem?  You try to ask, but people just shrug it off. 


They’re just stairs.  What’s the worry?  You’re just being overly cautious.  Relax.


But, you can’t relax, can you? 


You know it’s stupid.  You understand there’s no danger.  Yet, the vertigo still makes your head swim whenever you look out the window.  You want it to stop more than anything, but you don’t know how.  You need help, but you’re tired of people telling you you’re overreacting.  No one seems to take you seriously, so you back off and retreat into yourself.  Suffering in silence is better than ridicule.


It’s a far lonelier place to find yourself than I’ve been able to gather the words to describe.


My attempt at explanation only heightened her curiosity and more questions came.  Like most people without such anxieties, she didn’t seem to comprehend how uncomfortable such an invasive interview would make me.  Nowadays, I try to push past it and answer as honestly as I can.  I’ve wasted too much of my life stressing about keeping my anxieties a secret that it is actually a relief to share my experiences with others, even if it’s a little frightening. 


Then came the comment I’ve come to dread above all others:  “But, you don’t seem anxious!”


I get it.  Paradoxes are confusing.  Trust me, I understand.  I write science fiction and have seen my fair share of Doctor Who.  Things get a little wibbly-wobbly sometimes.


I know from where the statement comes.  It comes from a place of genuine surprise and, perhaps, admiration.  At least, I hope it does.  For that reason, I don’t get too upset.  It doesn’t change the fact that that seemingly innocuous statement, regardless of intent, is very confrontational because it has another implication the person saying it may or may not have considered.  It suggests that, because I appear calm, I must be calm and, therefore, can’t have an anxiety issue.  In five short words, six without the contraction, it implies that I have either confused shyness with an anxiety disorder or I’m lying about the whole thing for the attention.


I sighed internally.  The gavel had fallen.  Now came the part I’ve come to know as “the defense”.


Court is now in session.  The prosecution has made their opening remarks.  Does the defense have anything prepared? 


Yes, Your Honor.  I do, but I’m tired of repeating myself. 


Frankly, I’ve tried to finish this piece more than once.  In every draft, everything from here on out veered a little too close to a rant for my taste.  This particular subject clearly rests upon some frayed nerves.  So, I’m going to do my best to keep things civil and approach it differently than I have before.


No promises.


The bottom line is this:  I shouldn’t have to defend myself in how I handle my negative reactions to social interaction, nor should anyone have to feel like they must argue their case against those who don’t quite believe in their depression, PTSD, anorexia, drug addiction, or whatever other issue you want to list.  This kind of disbelief and distrust is very damaging to those enduring these situations.  For me, it takes an already isolating condition and places more space between those I have seen fit to entrust with this knowledge and myself; as I’m sure it does to anyone else who is trying to reach out in the only way they know how, which may not be in ways most people know to recognize.


Often, requests for help are subtle.  Keep an eye out.


Now, I could go on about how this general aversion to discussing maladies of the mind is a flaw in our culture as a whole that needs corrected if we are ever going to help those who suffer from them.  I did just that in previous drafts, but I got lost in the rant and the whole point of this journal went with it.  So, let’s dial it back to something much simpler:  One person writing his thoughts down for you to read.


Hello.  My name is Josh.


I couldn’t understand it when I was younger, but I eventually realized that my brain lies to me every day about the people I encounter.  It can make me quite anxious in certain situations, especially social ones.  I’ve learned to notice when this happens and can ignore the things it tells me.  It doesn’t always work and takes some effort, but I can endure certain social situations without any anxiety at all.  This does not change the fact that the anxiety still exists.  It just means building personal relationships with others is more difficult for me than it is for most people.  So, please be patient if I seem standoffish at first.  I’ll relax and join the conversation eventually, but I’ll get there a lot faster if I feel like I’m invited.


There.  If you didn’t before, and I’m sure you did, you now officially know one person struggling with some sort of mental issue.  I’m not some freak or psychopath.  I’m not scary.  I’m a human being.  Like you, I’m just looking to be understood and accepted.  We all come with a brain.  Some are just wired differently than others.


I left the party an hour or two later, after repeating that general conversation with several of the other guests.  Standing outside in the crisp winter air, I took a brief moment, as I often do, to relish the silence.  As socially active as I had been this evening, it was a lot of work.  There’s often a crash after intense events like this.  Like a marathon runner at the finish line, my whole body is drained and I feel like I could fall over.  That first breath of solitude saved me and I knew, without a doubt, I had been right from the beginning.


Something significant is happening.