So, I have been noodling over the conundrum about why people don’t seem to A) believe me when I tell them I’m having a hard time, or B) really get the extent to which I have to grapple with my issues.
Maybe people just don’t believe that it’s possible for someone to be as functional as I am, and have all the issues I say I have.
Maybe people just don’t know what it’s like to have to hassle with this crap, day in and day out.
Or maybe they figure that if I’m not doubled over in pain, or stammering and apparently struggling for words, or not having visible trouble, then I must be fine. If I don’t look like the kind of person they’ve been trained to look for, then I must not be that kind of person, right?
Uh, OK. I mean, the only reason I reach out for help, is because I genuinely trust that others have the ability to help me. And then they turn out to not realize the actual extent of my issues, and they can’t help me. And I look like an idiot all over again, putting my trust in people who never earned it, to begin with.
If I had my ‘druthers, I’d just stick to my own path and leave everyone else behind. I do appreciate and care about everyone who stops by here to read what I have to say. At the same time, I have such a difficult time dealing with real-life people who love to talk and interact. They do it out of friendliness and comaraderie. They do it out of intrusiveness and neediness. They do it for a million different reasons. And it makes me nuts. Because I have such a hard time following along. I feel like I’m being dragged through the mud. And at the end of each and every day, I am so exhausted from working at keeping up.
Just so exhausted.
It’s not that I’m anti-social. I really do enjoy people. I just get so tired, so turned around, so confused, so frustrated. And the harder I work at it, the worse I become at all the social stuff. Open mouth, insert foot. Oh no – not again. It’s really demoralizing.
And my neuropsych wants to know why I said I have to be ON when I visit them.
They want to know why I used to fear and dread going to see them. I still do, now and then, but it’s much, much less than it used to be.
They wonder why I have been wracked by fear and anxiety at the thought of walking into their office and interacting with them.
Yeah, it’s all that interaction and talking and processing. They’re talking. I’m responding. I’m telling them about things, and they’re summarizing what I say, and I’m not thinking quickly enough to correct the trajectory their ideas are on. And they think that I’m saying something entirely different from what I mean. And all the while, I’m feeling like a block of wood, unable to really talk, unable to speak up, unable to set the record straight.
Oh, screw it. I’m tired. I don’t want to think about this anymore.
What gets lost is everything that doesn’t show up in Technicolor-Surround-Sound.
What gets lost is everything that can’t be put into words in a simple, concise sentence to be parsed out and comprehended.
What gets lost is the fact that I am struggling, that I’ve been struggling for years and years, and I haven’t been able to express it in words to anyone who is able to understand — and possibly help me.
That gets lost — and me along with it.
Unless I get time by myself. With the written word. Away from the talking. Away from the frustration. Away from the disappointment that — yet again — I’ve fallen short of what I wanted to say and do, and here I am… just a shadow of the person I seem to think I am.
Like I said, I’m tired. Enough for one day.
Tomorrow I will continue. Tomorrow… onward.
Just not right now.