So this is really difficult to write... In fact, I’m still not sure that I *need* to write this, or 100% why I feel compelled to do so, but I’m hopeful that by disclosing the following I’m going to help to heal myself and my relationships with all of you wonderful people who I’m lucky enough to call my friends. I may have mentioned it in passing--I try not to hide it, but I don’t like bringing it up--but I’m sick. I’m really sick. And it’s all in my head. My diagnosis is called Avoidant Personality Disorder, or AvPD. It’s a personality disorder that is on the spectrum of social anxiety disorders, and it’s on the severe end of things. Like many mental illnesses, it has a high instance of comorbidity--that is, occuring in conjuction with other conditions; such as generalized anxiety and depression. AvPD is almost like a superpower with a major downside; like Rogue in the X-Men. Maybe that’s why she’s my favorite. My awareness of social norms, social cues, social behavior is heightened at all times. There is no dulling it. On one hand, this grants me a really keen power of observation; picking up on subtexts and behaviors in people that might go unnoticed by others. I can’t help but start to analyze and dissect people when I’m interacting with them, working at high speeds to put together the pieces of someone else’s puzzle. But there’s a downside, and it’s often crippling, because I become *too* aware. I constantly feel a responsibility to figure other people out and react accordingly--people are all like branching paths in front of me and figuring out which one to take becomes impossible. In the end, the thing that holds me back is the fear--the fear that I’ll go down the wrong path with someone and by the time I realize it, it will be too late. AvPD is characterized by extreme and very often irrational fear of negative evaluation; judgment; embarrassment; shame; and rejection. When you feel so aware of ~the rules~ of interaction, you find yourself funneling all of your mental and emotional energy into making it through those interactions. The reason I expend so much energy in that way is because I’m terrified that people are going to see the things in myself that I don’t like; the things in myself that make me feel less than adequate. The feeling that you will inevitably be rejected is always motivating your behaviors. The worry that you’re going to be a burden on the people you love becomes so intense that you find it easier to just not get involved, so there’s no chance of making a mistake. The level of anxiety I feel sometimes is literally crippling; so overwhelming that I can’t get out of bed; so overwhelming that all I can do is cry; so overwhelming that all I can do is hide myself away and immerse myself in something else, some sort of fantasy where the terrifying rules of real life don’t matter. I can immerse myself in a place where I can live vicariously through others; observe their social interactions and not have to worry about where I fit in to the equation; about how my inadequacies could possibly embarrass me, possibly hurt someone I care about. AvPD is like an addiction to isolation and avoidance--nothing feels better than running, hiding, and feeling the anxiety drop away. But when you run, it’s only temporary. I can’t press a pause button on life when I feel like I need to take a breather. Our society is structured for the normative mind; not for people like me. There is no way for people who have no frame of reference for the type of fear and pain that a disorder like this causes can see the toll this disorder takes on me. There are no lesions or hacking coughs; no casts or crutches; no scars, scrapes, or bruises. When someone is suffering from a physiological disorder, people don’t usually question it. When you’re suffering from a mental disorder, people question the validity of your feelings and accuse you of making up excuses. Sometimes my thoughts reach their darkest when I think of how I could physically harm myself--not because I think it would relieve my suffering, but because it might make it more concrete to other people; make me feel less guilty for not fighting harder to push myself in the face of my fears. I don’t have the option of calling out of work anxious; calling out depressed. The knowledge that my disorder won’t be understood or excused makes it even harder to talk about, because I don’t want to seem like I’m overly emotional, like I’m a crybaby who just needs to toughen up. I see people all around me--peers who I respect--doing so much with their lives, and I feel embarrassed by how incapable I seem when I look at my own life. If so many other people can pull themselves up by the bootstraps and go to school full time while carrying on a job, then why can’t I? There is such a stigma attached to the idea of being “crazy,” of not being in control of yourself or your emotions; of being unable to behave rationally because your mind is so broken. When you have an anxiety disorder, you look at diagnoses like schizophrenia, bipolar I or dissociative identity disorder; and you tell yourself that at least you’re not that bad. Lately, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I am that bad. My disorder often has more power over me than I have over it. Some days are better than others, for sure. Medication can help, and without the medications I’m on I think I’d be in an even worse position than I am now, so I’m thankful for that. But even with the scripts, I still have to fight my every instinct sometimes just to get myself to leave my room in the morning. My anxiety overrides my logic. I spiral downward into negative, self-destructive behaviors that are based on illogical assumptions; assumptions formed by desperate, panicked anxiety. I think no matter the state of my mental health, I would still be an introvert--someone who needs a lot of time to themselves in order to feel mentally and emotionally charged, healthy, and able to take on the world. Extended periods of social interaction, even with the people who I love and trust the most; can become exhausting. With AvPD, the energy resources for dealing with the world become even more limited. I guess ultimately I’m writing this because I need help. I need to accept that I’m not like everyone else, in ways that are both good and bad; and that when it comes to the things I struggle with, I *have* to be more willing to reach out to the wonderful friends and family I have and ask for help; especially when so many of you tell me that you’ll be more than happy to do so--just as I’m more than happy to be there for the people I care about. I’m writing this as a plea for people to try and be understanding of how excruciatingly difficult it is to be affected by a condition that seems so simple to fix when you don’t experience it. And I’m writing this as an apology to all of you--to those of you who contact me and I never get back to; to those of you I’ve blown off; to those of you whose events I haven’t showed up for. It’s cliche, but it’s not you--it’s most definitely me. The irony is that by trying to avoid the world so that I don’t hurt the people in it; I end up hurting people because of how I avoid them. I’m sorry to everyone who I’ve hurt, and I hope that you can be understanding that I’m trying. I might not be improving at the fastest pace, and I might stumble and take steps backwards, and I might need to push myself harder than I do sometimes, but I’m trying. And it’s easier to try if I don’t feel like I have to hide.
Posted on: Tue, 23 Sep 2014 17:11:02 +0000
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