The Hell In My Head

The dull pain behind my eyes has been nearly constant for almost six hours now.  Tears want to roll down my cheeks but I cannot seem to summon them, even though I am crying on the inside.  The back of my neck is tight, and  my stomach feels as though it has clutched into a tight little ball .  I feel trapped within myself, and utterly, utterly alone.

I am directionless, floating propelled by a current I am unable to fight, and am too tired to fight if I could.  I'm tired of always fighting.  I'm tired of always fighting.

I am drenched in paranoia. I feel unable to trust anyone; eventually everyone will turn against me if they haven't already.  They talk about me behind closed doors; they snicker at me behind cupped hands; they are setting me up for a fall.  They laugh at me.  They're setting me up.

Family and friends with the best intentions tell me it's OK, try to give me positive affirmations, try to help me see the bright side.  I know they are trying, but they are doing it wrong.  The more they tell me how good I am, the more I know I am not.  I can never be what they see.  I am a fraud.

I'm not looking for "oh it's going to be OK," or "I am here for you," or "let's talk about it." They are well-meaning, but they don't fill the gaping empty hole.  I am trapped inside my my own head, locked in, screaming.  Can't they hear me screaming? Can't you hear me screaming?

The inevitable question I cannot answer: "What's wrong?"  The cruelest question you could ask me. The question itself taunts me; it is asked knowing I cannot answer.  What's wrong? If I knew I could fix it, change it or leave it.

I can never stop fighting, yet I am too tired to fight anymore.  I don't want to feel like this anymore.  I don't want to have to fight this anymore.  Yet, I must.

Somewhere, echoing inside my hurting head, a sliver of a sane voice tells me to hang on; this storm will pass, like all the others have passed. But why must I suffer the storms, again and again?

I am tired of always fighting. I will cry myself to sleep tonight.  The demons have won this battle; the war rages on.

This Is How It Feels

To feel as if every compliment you receive is insincere,
          as if you're being lied to
          as if they're all laughing at you

To feel, deep in your soul, that you're being
          set up
          torn down
          walked on
          worked over
     and that everyone - everyone - will eventually
          turn on you
          or leave you
          or deceive you

To feel that clutching in your gut

To feel like you're crying out from deep inside your own mind
         where you are trapped
To feel like you're crying out from deep inside your own mind
         where you are trapped
To feel like you are crying

Six Word Sunday

Every day, getting better and better!

Reporting Live From The Eye Of The Storm

It's been awhile since I have had the need to blog about my battles with my internal demons, but here I sit on a Sunday evening finding myself in the midst of a storm inside my brain that rolled in so fast I did not have time to prepare.  Usually I can see these clouds forming and, while I can't always thwart the incoming attack, at least I am usually able to take the appropriate steps to shelter myself (and those around me) from the worst of the maelstrom.

Perhaps it's wrong to say I didn't see this one coming; a more correct assessment would be to say what I thought was a thunderstorm turned out to be hurricane.  It's been a long, tough, painful week at work.  What folks who do not suffer from the sort of anxieties and depressions many of us battle do not understand is that we also tend to guilt-sponges.  For as long as I can remember, whenever I sensed that people around me were upset or angry, my immediate assumption has always been that I must have done something wrong; that somehow this disturbance in the peace is my fault.  Now, sensible people would see that, if something were indeed their fault, they would be directly approached about it; if no one is telling them they are at fault, sensible folk deduce that they must not be at fault and move on with their lives.  Not so with me.  No, in my warped world, the very fact that I'm not being directly confronted about something only serves to make it clear that I am indeed the problem.  That Social Anxiety Demon who keeps me believing that I am forever at risk of being set up for embarrassment, humiliation, or ridicule, whispers in my ear that everyone must be talking about me behind my back.  Paranoid? Damn right you should be paranoid! They're out to get you! I hate that demon with every ounce of my soul.  That demon holds me back more than any other I battle.

That demon had me convinced this week that I was the cause of the issues that made it a difficult week, but the week seemed to end on a reasonably high enough note.  I was feeling better about things and headed into the weekend ready to begin anew.  Saturday went by uneventfully, as did this morning, but by mid-afternoon, my internal world was in shambles.

I can't tell you when it happened or even how it began.  I realized I was sitting on my sofa in the living room staring blankly out the window with neither the TV nor the stereo on (a rarity indeed!) in silence, wanting to scream, to cry, to beat my fists against the wall.  My head had begun to hurt, as if my skull were being pressurized from inside and likely to blow apart at any moment.  My stomach lurched and I felt physically weak.  Since about 2:00 this afternoon, this is how I have felt.  The physical discomfort is not constant, other than the headache, but the want to just cry and scream in some sort of primal release is very strong.  As I write this I am simultaneously holding back tears yet wanting them to flow.

And the worst part of it all?  I can't tell you why.  I don't know why.  I don't think there is a "why."

Sure, there are things that are wrong in my world, as there are in anyone's.  Yes, I am fighting to regain the sense of security I once had before the economy collapsed and I found myself back to living paycheck to paycheck and struggling to stay above water, but so are many people.  I have a plan for those things, a strategy to rebuild, and it is working, slowly but surely.

Sure, there are the life choices I wish I would have made differently, such as never learning to drive or never marrying and starting my own family, but those situations are what they are, and they are certainly not new issues that just arose in my mind this weekend.

So what is it? Why is it? Why do I feel like this, and why does it happen so often?  Especially when it hadn't happened for such a long stretch?

To be clear, this is not a panic attack I am experiencing.  I know those very well, unfortunately.  No, this is a depression attack, and I am smack dab in the middle of it.  Funny, though, that the "rational" part of my brain realizes this much, and is allowing me to communicate it through writing.  I just want it to stop - I want this episode to stop, and want this all to stop happening ever again.  I want to be a normal, regular person.  I just wish I were normal.

I will get through this. I always do.  Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger,  right?

Enough rambling.

The Revenge of My Beautifully Broken Brain

"With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah 
Your head will collapse if there's nothing in it 
And you'll ask yourself 
Where is my mind?" - The Pixies

Stress and Anxiety are hellish things.  Those who are fortunate enough to go through life without having to deal with the constant insidious treachery these two demons bring to the lives of those of us who aren't so lucky cannot fathom the havoc they wreak: the mental anguish, the physical discomfort, the emotional turmoil.  You can try to ignore them; many of us do just that.  But they will not be ignored for long.  If they haven't been able to disrupt your world with their usual  incessant undercurrent of of bilious badness, they will temporarily retreat - just long enough to let you think everything is fine - and then they launch a salvo that brings everything crashing down horrifically around you.

I speak from experience.  I've been the victim of their salvos before.  About twenty years ago I began noticing areas of my body that were suddenly going numb: the heel of my left foot, a spot on my back, another spot under my chin, one on my arm.  All areas about the size of a half-dollar (those of you under age 30, go ask your parents what a half-dollar is), and each time dead numb.  Not foot-falling-asleep-tingly numb, but literally no sensation at all numb.  After months of test after frustrating test looking for everything from pinched nerves to Multiple Sclerosis, each test coming back normal, I asked my doctor in exasperation how I can be absolutely healthy on paper and yet be experiencing these very real symptoms?  And his response, indeed the final diagnosis: Stress. Anxiety.  These things can affect you physically, and yes their symptoms are very real.  You can, he warned, quite literally worry yourself death.  That experience was what initially spurred me to seek out therapy, which in turn introduced me to my personal demons, OCD and Social Anxiety.  I learned some coping skills and stress-relieving techniques, and after time, the numbness went away.

Some years later, having stopped therapy and living a reasonably happy life (or so I thought), I found myself dealing with intermittent pains in either my right side or my left shoulder and upper chest.  Again, a battery of tests quickly ruled out the expected causes.  One night I showed up in my doctor's office complaining of chest and shoulder pain, and my doctor was taking no chances.  Had the ambulance pick me up there and take me to the hospital cardiac unit - just in case.  After spending the better part of the night hooked up to monitors and machines and being given more tests, the word came back that my heart was perfectly fine.  Once again, the demons had struck a heavy blow.  Anxiety or panic attacks can often mimic heart attacks: shortness of breath, clammy sweating, and chest pain.  That, it was determined, is what this had been.  I had not been vigilant against my demons, and had allowed stress to build up until the dam finally burst.  A return to what I know works soon had me back to my "normal" self.

Now, I add a new chapter to the book.  My demons found a new way to express their rage and remind me that they are still (and always) very much with me.  And this time was the most frightening of all, because this time there was no slow build as there had been with the numbnesses, no series of preceding pains as there had been with my faux heart issue.  This time it was a lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky.  No warning, no precipitating event, just a full-on attack.

My current job is in customer service, answering inbound phone calls.  On Wednesday, I was having a very normal day.  In fact, I remember thinking as I took my lunchtime walk around the office grounds that it was a good day.  I ate my lunch and returned to work.  Took a few calls as I normally would.  And then it all went to hell.

In essence, I must have blacked out, although my doctor is calling it an “amnesia event” and we don’t believe I ever actually lost consciousness, at least in the sense that I didn’t fall over or pass out. I was just suddenly aware that I was in the midst of a phone call talking with someone, but I had no idea who I was talking with or what we were talking about.  More unsettling was the fact that I could not make sense of the screens up on my computer.

After trying to regain a frame of reference and failing, I at least had sense enough to put the caller on hold and page my supervisor to my cubicle. I tried to explain what I was experiencing, and at this point I was physically shaking, more from being frightened by the event than anything. My supervisor had me transfer the call to another agent, then we looked at my screen.

I have no memory of actually taking the call, but when a call comes in we have to ask for either a Social Security number or a Member Number to find the person’s record in the system and pull it up. Obviously I had done that, although again I have no memory of it. However, I also had a second screen up of a completely different and unrelated person. I still don’t know why I had that screen up. I have no sense of time or duration of this event, although I imagine it couldn’t have been that long. I was, however, apparently functioning on auto-pilot.

I called my mother to come pick me up from work, then called my doctor. He couldn’t see me until 7:30 that evening, but because by the time I got home I was feeling fairly normal (other than being badly shaken up and feeling horribly embarrassed), the nurse didn’t feel it was an emergency situation. But, she told me if anything like it happened again before my appointment, I should have someone take me to the hospital.  My doctor gave me a thorough once-over, and said I looked OK – not ashen or flushed or pupils dilated or anything. He said it could have been anything from a sudden drop in blood sugar to a seizure, or – as my wise mother had already suggested – my old friends Stress and Anxiety. Of course, the doctor wanted to rule out the big stuff quickly (seizure, brain tumor, aneurism, etc.), as well as check my blood sugar levels and make sure I wasn’t anemic. So it was over to the hospital for a full blood work and a CAT scan of the brain. Because he asked for those two tests to be done “stat,” the hospital would keep me there until the results came back and he could talk with me about them. So, at 10:45 Wednesday  night, there I was sitting in the emergency room waiting area on a portable phone with my doctor, only to learn that, in typical fashion, both tests came back...wait for it...absolutely normal.

We’re not done with tests yet. I’m waiting for a pre-authorization from my insurance for two more tests: an EEG and a 24-hour Holter Monitor. Then I must schedule them and also schedule an ultrasound of my carotid arteries. Bets on the results?

So, its back to the coping skills and stress-relieving techniques.  Maybe it's time to get back to therapy.  Has there been a lot of Stress in my world lately? Oh you bet.  Being unemployed/underemployed for two years will bring the Stress in a big frightening way.  And, as I have mentioned in previous posts, those demons are cunning and wait until your defenses are completely down before they attack.  I am still processing this event; this post is part of that processing.  This was the scariest storm I've been through to date, so I think I'll be processing this one for awhile.

Demons Again

My demons have the upper hand right now.  They are mocking me, belittling me, making me feel empty and worthless.  They have seized upon a moment and their grip is strong, much stronger than I expected, and I don't know how to get away.

I haven't talked about it on this blog - partially out of pride, moreso because I didn't feel this was the place to talk about it - but I am among the far too many people in this country who are currently searching desperately for employment.  To be truthful, I have been under-employed since 2008, when the company for which I had worked since 1997 took its first hit in our collapsing economy and laid off 90% of its employees.  Those of us who stayed on took a pretty deep salary cut, but worked hard to try to save the company.  To our credit, we kept it afloat, barely, for another three years before the doors finally closed last April.  I have been essentially unemployed for a little over a year now, scraping by on the meager crumbs of whatever freelance work I can find.

I am at a crossroads now.  There are no more unemployment benefits available to me to supplement my partial income.  In fact, I'm being asked to repay some of the benefits I did receive, because in the eyes of the PA Unemployment Commission, the fact that I have been doing freelance work makes me "self-employed," and self-employed people cannot collect unemployment benefits. I would have been better off being a lazy bum who sat on a couch and just collected checks from the government.  But I never wanted to be that person.  I took work where I could, but because I was not on payroll as an employee any of the places I did work for, and because I am an honest person who reported the small income I made so that my benefits could be properly offset, I am actually now in debt to PAUC and no longer qualify for future benefits.  Our government in action, folks.  (Or should that be "our government inaction"?)

I have burned through nearly all of my savings.  I am proud of myself that I have maintained excellent credit throughout these past few years, and as I write this I am not behind on any bill.  But August 1st looms large on the horizon and at the moment I have no idea how I will pay next month's bills.  (Of course, since I am unemployed, I no longer carry employer-provided health insurance.  I'm on COBRA, which actually adds an additional $300 a month to my bills.  Losing a job doesn't just mean you lose an income; it can actually cost you more money!)

I have pounded the pavement, knocked on doors, utilized my network of friends and colleagues, and sent out so many cover letters and resumes that I ought to qualify for bulk mail rates at the Post Office.  And all I have to show for it is a fistful of rejection letters, most of which were sent in lieu of even a perfunctory interview.

The truly scary thing is that I am far from alone in this experience.  Friends I know who are in the same or similar situations are running up against the same dead ends.  Local news reported today that two local companies are shutting down putting another 300 people out on the streets to compete for jobs.  It is easy to feel defeated in this situation, and I do.

And that is when my demons pounce.  They waited patiently this time, as they always do.  I can tell you exactly when they made their move:  Sunday night was a sleepless night for me.  As I lay in bed trying to shut off the swimming thoughts and get some sleep, I felt it in the pit of my stomach.  I felt it behind my eyes, which had begun burning.  I felt trapped in my own head, fighting to get out.  And I heard the demons whispering in my ear:  "You're going to lose the house.  You're going to lose your insurance.  You're credit will be ruined.  You have nothing, you're worth nothing, you're a failure. No one will hire you!  Look, they won't even interview you.  They read your resume and laugh." And their infamous refrain that I have mentioned on this blog many times before: "You're not good enough!"

It's panic.  And it has been gurgling in my gut and pounding in my brain since Sunday night.  My usual coping mechanisms are not working well this time; the rational side of my brain that recognizes what is happening and normally works to quell the demons' uprising is not doing the trick this time around, and I am spiraling down.

I have good friends and a wonderful family who are supportive, and they all want to say or do the "right" thing that will help me turn the demons away, but I'm in a place now where, despite their good intentions and despite my great gratitude for their support and caring, I need them to stop trying to help - it only aggravates things, if that makes any sense.  Motivational quotes and positive affirmations and lists of what's good in my life and all those other things are, I know, meant to help, but they don't.  Not right now.  Right now this one is my internal struggle, and the best thing those who want to be supportive and helpful can do is let me go through this cycle, and be there when I get to the point where I'm ready to reach out again.

I know this cycle.  I've lived with it all my life, and even if it is presently not strong enough to do anything about it, there still exists that rational side of me that recognizes this for what it is.  I know my thoughts are cycling irrationally - that's what the OCD Demon does.  I know the physical reactions in my head and stomach are the result of the Anxiety Demon flooding my system with adrenalin in an effort to keep in full panic-attack mode.  And, I have not given up the job search - nor will I.  I have a few leads that I am following up on this week, and more places to apply to.  I will get to the other side of this.

Will it get worse before it gets better? Maybe. I hope not, but I recognize that it could.  As usual, writing this has actually helped a bit.  I beg your indulgence if I write more - it's been awhile since I've had to discuss my demons.  With luck, before long, my demons will be the ones on the unemployment line!

My Demons Again...

"I'll give you some advice that cannot be fought
Now I'm gonna warn you: Don't you get caught...
Don't get caught in my brainstorm..."
                                                - The Fleshtones

I'm picking fights with everyone lately.

Not sure how I got into this frame of mind, and I seem powerless to stop it.  I've been here before, though.  Many years back, before I was diagnosed with my demons, I went through a phase that led me directly into what I refer to as my "Hermit Phase."  Before I even knew what Social Anxiety or OCD were, I realized one day I had changed from a very sociable, friendly person into someone who grew easily irritated when others seemed oblivious, whether consciously or unconsciously so, to things that seemed so simple and obvious to me.  Further, whatever filter most people have that allows them to shield others from that irritation didn't seem to be functional in me.  Coupled with my natural tendency towards sarcasm, I quickly found myself driving people away, pissing off friends, and destroying relationships.  Yet, I felt incapable of stopping myself from doing it.

Once I began working with my therapist and began to learn about the processes that were likely happening in my brain, I also began to learn coping skills.  The process went like this: My OCD Demon would see something not "right" in what someone else was saying or doing, and immediately fire off the alarm that it had to be fixed; my Social Anxiety Demon would begin whispering in my ear that whatever that other person was saying or doing was being said or done in order to make me look bad, or to attack me in some way, and would insist that I go into full defense mode - fight or flight, so to speak, except I couldn't flee because OCD compelled me to stay and fix it, so that left "fight" as my only option.  I upset a lot of people over a lot of little things.

A combination of learning some coping skills (especially recognizing the warning signs that such a process was beginning and getting myself out of the situation before it reached the point I couldn't "flee") and finding the right medication (better living through Zoloft!) helped immensely.  I also believe that, in many ways, social media such as Facebook and Twitter, helped me to improve to a point where I could begin being social in the real world again, because the built-in buffer created by being able to simply turn off the computer let me begin to push and stretch my boundaries.

As I've shared here before, my fight against my demons is never, and will never be, finished.  I must always remain vigilant against their schemes.  I haven't written much about them in recent months because they've been relatively quiet - or so I thought. The holidays came and went with no flare-ups, and I was feeling pretty good about where my head was.

Those demons are insidious, and infuriatingly patient.  They sit and wait until the slightest crack in my armor appears, and then they make their moves.  They will slowly but inexorably chip away until the crack becomes larger and larger and finally, before I even realize it, they've gotten into my brain again. This time, rather than sending me on my usual depression spirals or battles of self-doubt, they pulled an old trick out of their armory: They brought back that process.

At first, I didn't even notice it.  Most of my friends know I love to debate.  I love a well-structured argument; I actually enjoy having my beliefs challenged in ways that forces me to assess (and, if necessary re-assess) them.  And if I can find someone to debate with who is both skilled in the art of the debate and also realizes the pure joy found in a well-placed pun or sudden non sequitur in the midst of an otherwise straight, logical argument, I am beyond happy!  Because it is the structure of the debate itself and not necessarily the content that I enjoy, I will occasionally take a devil's advocate stance even if it's not really my belief just for the fun of the contest.  It's not a malicious thing at all; I don't debate to make personal attacks, nor will I remain in a debate with an opponent who is so unskilled as to devolve from arguing his point to attacking me.  That's not fun.

But slowly, over the past month or so, I've noticed the tone of my debates growing darker.  I've found myself almost incapable of passing up opportunities to jump into the fray with anyone, and I've heard the sarcasm in my own words grow.  I'm no longer asking others to defend their beliefs because I am interested in how they think; I am now insisting that they defend stances that I see as, for lack of a better word, stupid.  My demons have taken one of the mental and logical exercises I enjoy most and once again turned it into a weapon against me.

I know it's happening because, over time, the old familiar symptoms are resurfacing:  I find myself getting actually angry at what I perceive as personal attacks that probably aren't; I find myself thinking of the other person as at best ill-informed and at worst stupid for not seeing things that seem so obvious to me; I find my inner frustration level rise to the point where adrenalin starts coursing through me and I feel as if I am physically fighting to get out of my own head.  More to the point, I find myself pissing people off or getting pissed off at people and pushing them away over the slightest perceived infraction.

What becomes even more frustrating is, now that the rational observer in my head is aware that this is happening but not yet able to do anything about it, I have begun internally dissecting each and every conversation, whether argument or not, to try to determine which are the battles that are worth fighting - the situations where I really do need to stand up and fight for something valid - and which are the inconsequential skirmishes that my demons are trying dust up into life-and-death battles.  It's not easy to define which is which; right now they look identical from inside my head.

But I'm not giving in.  I can't and won't.  I've noted before that the hell of this all is that sometimes the demons win.  But I know they won't win all the time, and I know I can get back to a place where I win more often than they do.  Writing these posts helps - a lot.  I just hope that this time around I don't have to count as many causalities among my friends and relationships as I have before.

Still Here! Updates, etc.

Realized that it's been over a week since my last post, so I figured I should bring you folks up to date on a few things happening in this neck of the woods:

NaNoWriMo - Started the month out with a bang, writing like a fiend!  It's much easier to do, I've discovered, when you have a clear goal (1600 words a day) and fellow writers aiming for the same goal with whom to compare notes, celebrate milestones, and cheer each other on past the hurdles.  It's been neat watching my short story grow and take shape, and getting to know the characters who populate the story better.  I have most of the novel outlined now; at this point, I am putting flesh on the bones.  Should be easy, right?  Nope - I hit a wall this weekend and must admit to letting a couple days pass without writing a word.  I'll be back at it tonight, though.  My local writers' group meets tomorrow night, so I better have something to show them!  (Right guys?)

NW4NW & 6WS - The Monday New Wave for the New Week posts and weekly Six Word Sunday entries are on indefinite hiatus.  I don't know whether that's a concern or not: the poll I ran here in October about continuing NW4NW sent me a decidedly mixed message.  The votes that came in were 100% in favor of continuing NW4NW; however, despite there being an audience that includes 234 who follow on Facebook and 933 who follow on Twitter, only 4 (4!) of you voted.   So, for now, I've decided both series of posts are getting a rest.  I am still open to your thoughts and opinions (hell, I'm practically begging for them!), so please post either in the comments field below, or on either the Facebook or Twitter pages.

What's The Name of That Song? - Still have yet to discover the title and artist for the remaining mystery song posted here a month ago today. Please take a moment to listen - someone out there has to know who and what this is!  It's still driving me crazy, and - no promises - but there just may be a reward in it for you:


mystery song #1
Recent Discoveries - A couple of nifty websites and a truly awesome band have landed on my radar screen in the past few weeks, and, as always, when I find the neat stuff I share it with you!  The two websites are actually Tumblr blogs, and have been added to the blogroll on the lefthand side of the screen here (keep scrolling down; you'll find it! And while you're there, check out some of the other sites I have linked there).

First is Things Could Be Worse, a wonderful collection of dryly yet wickedly funny drawings by Benjamin Dewey, referred to as the "Tragedy Series."  Almost like a virtual set of trading cards, these one-panel webcomics are brilliant visualizations of Dewey's warped reminders that, no matter how bad your day is going, someone else somewhere at some point in time has had it worse.  One of my faves:

Those of you who follow my posts about my challenges with Social Anxiety will join me in celebrating the second site, Social Anxiety Things.  Most of the entries are simply that: brief descriptions of those moments all of us who battle Social Anxiety Disorder know all too well.  For those who live it every day, it's a bit of the constant reassurance we need that we really are not alone; for those who are fortunate not to suffer such anxieties, the site offers a bit of a window into the worlds of those who do, which may help you better understand friends or family who experience it.  The site takes submissions from readers, so scattered among the regular items you will occasionally find folks sharing stories of both anxiety attacks and successful "wins" when they overcame the hurdles anxiety threw into their paths.  The occasional video shows up as well, and suggestions for coping skills are offered.  Together, these varied entries make up a reassuring and wonderful site, and I for one am glad it exists!  As an example, here's a recent Social Anxiety Thing that I certainly relate to:

And now, my "band of the moment": My friend JK introduced me to Austin, TX's punk/metal/awesome duo One-Eyed Doll about a week ago, and they are all I have been listening to since!  I have become utterly smitten with singer/guitarist/driving force Kimberly Freeman, who, together with drummer "Junior" (Jason Rufuss Sewell, who also does most of the production work), is putting out some truly original, highly enjoyable, often hysterical and always intelligent material which ranges from death metal screaming to pretty pop balladry to children's-song chanting and back again, often within the same song.  Not ones to sing about the mundane, One-Eyed Doll tackle lyrical subjects like the difficulties serial killers have in making friends ("Be My Friend"), the troubles with dating the undead ("You're A Vampire"), the joy of video game victory ("Battle On"), and the sheer delight of being insane ("Committed").   As luck would have it, One-Eyed Doll will actually be playing near here (The Crocodile Rock Cafe in Allentown, PA, to be exact) on November 25th.  We will be there, and you'll be treated to another road story afterwords!  Meantime, here's One-Eyed Doll's fantastic "You're A Vampire":



OK, that should about catch you up from my world.  More neat stuff coming up in the near future!

Waiting for Calmness

Over a decade ago, when I first began therapy and discovered the names of my demons, my therapist said to me that my "work will never be done.  The goal is not to cure you because these are not things you cure.  The goal is for you to learn how you react to things and develop the skills you need to develop to remain in control."  It's the thing that those of us who live with anxieties hate to hear but must admit: this is how we are.  This is how we always will be.  It won't ever stop - but it can get better.  My demons cannot be exiled, but they can be tamed.

I liked the fact that she called it my "work." Actually, more often she called it "our work," because her part in the matter was to teach me how to do this work.  It truly is a full-time job to internally monitor my reactions to things.  Fortunately, by this point, it is work that is, a majority of the time, passive.  It's the work a smoke alarm does in your home.  You put the battery in the smoke alarm and forget about it, unless and until it screeches out its warning that there's an awful lot of smoke - and where there's smoke, there's fire, so you had better do something lest your house burn down.  Same thing.  My internal monitor sits there, vigilant yet passive, until something sets it off.  Then, it screeches out a warning and I know I have to react.

I haven't written about my demons in awhile, because they haven't tripped the alarm in some time.  In the past few meetings of the writer's group I belong to, I've shared that I have made no progress at all on my planned book about dealing with OCD, Social Anxiety and Depression, because they have not been at the surface of my awareness.  It's difficult enough to write about them when they are causing mayhem in my life, but it's damn near impossible to write about them when they aren't.  There's nothing to say, no story to tell.  It's as if I have to be in pain to write about pain. Well, for the past few months, the waters have been still.  So still, in fact, that I almost forgot about my demons.

Almost.

When I became unemployed for the first time in 14 years this summer, I was ready for the demons to make an appearance.  Despite the fact that the company which had employed me all that time was shutting down and it was absolutely no reflection on my abilities or my work ethic, I just knew that my demons would relish the opportunity to remind me what a failure I am.  It would have been an obvious thing for them to latch onto, but they didn't.  And I'll admit I was very pleased with myself that I have come far enough in ten or so years of "work" that I could recognize that potential "fire hazard" and guard against it before it ever occurred.  That's not to say I wasn't upset or even somewhat depressed at being out of work - that's only natural, especially in our society where we are often defined by our careers.  But I didn't sink into the bleak despair that I might have had it happened a few years earlier; I didn't give the demons a chance to wreak their havoc. 

As a result, rather than sit around moping and hurting and beating myself up, I found an new job within about two weeks.  Or, so I thought.  As I've said to those with whom I have since shared the story, I had the unique experience of having been interviewed for, hired for, traveled to across the state to be trained for, even received business cards for a job that turned out not to exist.  I went from the extreme high of being able to announce to friends and family that I was back among the gainfully employed to the extreme low of realizing that no, I am still unemployed.  Now this was certainly where my demons would usually chime in: "You see! It was all a set up! All designed to make you look bad! They're laughing at you, Bryan! You're a failure! You don't deserve a good job!"  But yet again, I found myself on guard against their insidiousness, almost without realizing it.  I knew what to expect from them and was ready, and they never had the chance to strike.

I have since gone into business with my former boss and mentor to create a new marketing company.  You'll hear more about Independence Marketing Services in the very near future.  We're taking what we know how to do well and "rebooting," after a fashion.  Of course, like any other startup, it's hard work and long hours for little pay.  Once we get the ball rolling, that will change, but overcoming the initial inertia is a challenge.  I am pleased to be working and excited for the possibilities this venture presents.  But there has been a price, which I really only discovered last night.

With all of my efforts and attention being directed towards building the new company, I haven't been as vigilant in listening to my internal monitor.  My demons have begun finding small little cracks to chip away at - small chinks that have been quietly yet inexorably clawing away at until they can break through like an army of zombies bursting through windows boarded up against their approach.  They manage to get an arm through here, a head through there; they push and pound and scratch until the boards give way and they are in.

The first signs that they were finding ways in showed up when catching myself lying awake at night going into mild panic attacks over paying my bills.  Right now, Unemployment Compensation helps and will remain a help as we build the business to a place where steady income begins flowing; but it's not really enough and it will not last forever.  I have savings and I budget wisely enough that I needn't really start to worry for another month or so.  But the self-doubt: "You're not good enough to make this work. You're going to fail. You don't deserve success..."

I fight back by reminding myself that we have already completed one successful project for one client, and we have gotten paid for it - we have made a small profit on our very first venture! It was a client that I brought to the table and a project that I managed! On top of that, we're building a second project for another client, and have at least one more on the immediate horizon.  It IS working.  But the demons are relentless.

Last night, for the first time in a long time, they showed up in full force.  I was invited to join some friends for a bonfire at one friend's house for "drinks and philosophical conversation," the kind of thing I love, as anyone who has gotten into an esoteric debate with me about life, reality, theology, existentialism, etc. has discovered. I immediately said "count me in."  Of course, the old transportation situation came up: I don't drive, and our meeting place would not have been within walking distance.  So, we began figuring out the logistics of getting me to and from the festivities.  And then it hit.

"You better not leave your house! Something might happen to it - a fire, a burglary, vandalism - and you don't have the money to fix it if that happens! And you won't have the money, because you're not going to be successful in your new business!"  My stomach lurched, my head swam, and I wanted to run away, bury my head and cry.  I was sitting there, working out transportation with a friend on Twitter, perfectly fine, and within seconds I was in the midst of a full-fledged anxiety attack, as strong as any I've ever had.  My hands were trembling, I was nearly hyper-ventilating, and I was once again hating myself for going through this.

I begged my friend's forgiveness, explained that I was in high panic mode, and politely backed out of the evening.  Then came the embarrassment.  How could I let this happen again? I'd done so well, gone for so long without an event, and something so simple as "hey let's get together for a bonfire" sent me into a violent emotional whirlpool.  Next came the OCD demon replaying it again and again in my head, reminding me how insane this behavior is.  "See how messed up you are! See how silly you behave! It's a wonder you have any friends at all!"

It took some time to settle down, maybe a couple of hours.  It was then, in a more rational state of mind, that I could reflect and realize that it wasn't just one thing that set it off.  No, it's been the upheaval that my life has been through since I lost my job back in April.  And I reminded myself that my work will never be done, that my demons can never be exiled - only tamed.  I've also reminded myself that I have proven that I can tame them, and that even though they may occasionally win a battle here or there like they did last night, they haven't won the war.  I will continue to work towards seeing that they do not.  Once calmness returns to my life, it will be better again.
___________

In case you missed them, here are links to my prior posts regarding my demons:

Table For One
Fighting The Demons Again
A Stalemate With The Demons
At The Moment

At The Moment

I'm smack in the middle of one hell of a dark period.  This one rolled in over the weekend unannounced, triggered by the stupidest little thing, but then these episodes are rarely triggered by anything of substance.  (I remember one day several years back when, out with a group of friends, someone commented that I seemed like I was in a particularly good mood.  The woman I was with at the time warned, only half-facetiously, "Don't worry, his mood will change.  Suddenly, and without warning, but it WILL change.  Enjoy it while you can.")

It's funny how I can always recognize when my OCD or anxiety demons are up to their tricks, but the depression demon can be so slick as to set up shop and get to work well in advance of my internal alarm system notifying me.  It's like a smoke detector that is extremely poorly placed, so that by the time it goes off half the house is engulfed in flame already.  Still haven't figured out where to put that damn detector.

This is a particularly rough one.  I got up yesterday morning in a fairly decent frame of mind, but somewhere along about lunchtime, I realized things weren't right.  I didn't recognize what was happening yet, but something was off.  And I was suddenly damn tired - not just sleepy, but the kind of tired where moving your limbs is a chore, and where sitting up straight seems like far more effort than it's worth. I napped. Most of the afternoon and evening. Ate some dinner, but more because I knew I should eat something than because I was hungry.  "Dinner" was really a bologna and cheese sandwich.  Rarely left the couch. At no point during the day did I open the blinds, much less leave the house.  Just sat there, lumplike, alternately sleeping and staring at the TV.  Today has been more of the same.  Honestly, I couldn't tell you where today went.  I was "up" around 7:00-ish, but again the day has been spent napping on and off.  No appetite. No motivation.

My head is uncomfortable. It's not a headache in the traditional sense - it's not pain.  I feel as though I cannot unfurrow my brow, and my own voice is screaming in my brain as if it were trying desperately to jump out of my head, flinging itself like a tantrum-throwing child against the inside of my skull in vain efforts to crash through that wall of bone to freedom.  I want to cry, but there are no tears to cry.  Resultantly, my eyes burn and feel heavy in their sockets.  My teeth are gritted and my neck is tense.  Hell, every muscle in my body is tensed as if I were preparing to have to physically defend myself from something.  My stomach feels strange - not nauseous, not nervous, but somewhere in between, similar to the way it feels when experiencing a surge of adrenalin, but not exactly the same.  The adrenalin surge fades with time; this has  been a day and a half now.

Does any of that make sense?  I know these sensations very well.  They are not symptoms of illness - well, at least not of physical illness like a flu bug or having eaten something that might have been a few days past its use-by date.  The thoughts that accompany them, fueled undoubtedly by my ever-present Internal Greek Chorus of OCD and SA, are both sad and angry, usually.  This time, they are more angry than sad.  It's a loud, visceral anger, overpowering at times yet unfocused.  I couldn't tell you who or what I am angry with, I am just angry.  Feel like I could lash out like a cornered animal at anyone who came too close.

And therein lies another great conundrum:  I wish I had someone I could tell all this to, someone who would listen and understand and tell me its OK and help me get through this.  At the same time, I don't want anyone around me when I'm like this, because I know I will be nasty towards them - a cutting, sarcastic, verbal nastiness.  It is, I think, a large part of the reason I remain single: it takes a very strong, thick-skinned woman to be with me during these times.  Believe me, I have scared off more than a few over the years when things got "too intense," to use the phrase I have heard more than a few times.

And before you suggest, yes, I do have a therapist - have had for years.  But that's a very different type of interaction.  An important one, one I value immensely, and one that I recommend highly to anyone who fights demons similar to mine.  I would never have come as far as I have without my therapist's help.  As I say, though, that's a different interaction.

I'm going to stop here.  I may not be making a whole hell of a lot of sense, but blogging these things helps me to sort out the jumble of thoughts that clog my beautifully broken brain.  I don't write these types of posts looking for sympathy or to cry "oh woe is me," nor do I write them really for anyone's benefit but my own.  Maybe there are some of you out there reading who get it, maybe there aren't.  Hell, maybe no one reads this.  But it helps me, and that what matters.  At the moment, anyway.

Today's Anxiety Attack: A Stalemate With The Demons

In previous posts I have talked about the demons I must always fight, OCD and Social Anxiety, and how insidiously spiteful they are.  Forever they watch for the slightest little chink in my armor, or that one part of a moment when I let my guard down every so slightly, and they immediately seize upon the most miniscule opportunities to immobilize and imprison me, to make the world with which I can interact just that much smaller, or to at the very least snatch away a little bit of joy.  Sometimes I win; sometimes the demons win.  Today, a rare third option materialized: we split the difference.

At the end of May, The Go-Go's are kicking off a reunion/farewell tour.  Yeah, that's right, The Go-Go's: Belinda, Charlotte, Jane, Kathy and Gina.  "We Got The Beat" and "Our Lips Are Sealed" and "Vacation."  I was always a huge Go-Go's fan, but I never did get to see them live.  As luck would have it, they are starting the tour in Hershey, PA, just over half an hour from where I am sitting at the moment!  Well, I'm not missing my last chance to say I saw The Go-Go's live when they're practically going to be in my backyard!

Through a series of emails, I invited a friend to come to the show with me, and she and I began making plans.  As I started researching ticket prices, I mentioned that The Go-Go's website was reporting that some of the shows on the tour would also feature The B-52's, but sadly Hershey was not one of those shows.  She came back with a list of the cities where The B-52's were definitely announced.   I joked that the closest was Boston, MA, and "golly, it's only a six and a half-hour drive!"

Little did I suspect she'd actually reply with an offer to go to the Boston show.  Her proposition was that if I would finally agree to get my learner's permit and start learning to drive, she would consider the Boston road trip.  I wouldn't even have to drive on the road trip itself!  She has long been after me to learn to drive, so I took this as a little needling, and said I would get the Hershey tickets tomorrow when they go on sale.
In the meantime, however, she had talked with some other friends who were potentially into the idea of a road trip to Boston, so she wanted me to hold off buying the Hershey tickets until the road trip idea was either confirmed or sacked.  The tickets aren't cheap, and doing both shows would be out of the question.

And then it hit.

The first blow came from the OCD demon.  He usually is the one to strike first.  I could immediately feel my brow knitting in consternation, and my frustration level rising.  No! No! No! This is not what I had planned.  I had planned to go to the Hershey show.  I had invited my friend to the Hershey show.   My OCD, mild as it may be in the grand scheme of things, becomes the screaming child in the restaurant who the parents can't quiet down when plans are suddenly changed on me.  Spontaneity is not a luxury I am overly familiar with.  I need to know what the plan is, and I need to stick to the plan.  I usually do have a "Plan B" and "Plan C," but in this case those alternates were other people I might invite if this friend couldn't make it.  I was utterly unprepared for the idea of changing which show to go to.  That was already decided.  My guard was down, just for that moment, and OCD seized on it: "That's the wrong show.  You're supposed to be going to the Hershey show.  Now everything is ruined.  You don't get to enjoy this!"

Then, the Social Anxiety demon joined the attack.  One of the things this demon has taken from me over the years is the ability to travel freely, especially to places I've never been.  The last real travel excursion I took was a trip to upstate New York to visit another friend who had moved there.  That was in 1996.  Since then, even when I take vacation time from work, I don't go anywhere.  Now, there are some trips that I have made regularly enough over the years that have become immune to this demon's salvos: Spending a few days in Johnstown, PA, where my employer's production division is, for example, or traveling to New Jersey or Baltimore to see a band in the usual haunts.  In each of those cases, though, returning home in the same day is not only possible, it has been done.  Boston and back in the same day is not possible, and anytime I find myself more than a cabride's distance away from home for any length of time, the panic starts to overcome me.

"You can't be away from home that long! What if something happens? What if there is a fire? What if someone breaks into your home while you're gone?  What if you get stranded wherever you're going? What if you get hopelessly lost?"  It's a great example of the thought spirals I've described before wherein there is the rational side of me that is watching this all take place, recognizes what's happening, realizes the insanity and illogic, but is utterly unable to stop it, while the irrational side of me believes and amplifies every thought that goes through my head.  "Plus, you'd be traveling with a bunch of people, some of whom you don't even know!  They're not going to like you; they're going to laugh at you; you're going to be the butt of all the jokes!  You don't get to enjoy this!"

Understand, this all hits me in a split-second's time.  These attacks are not storms that gradually roll in like my bouts of depression; these are sudden explosions that appear seemingly out of the blue.  There is no time to prepare.  I can only respond.  And so I sat there, staring at the email on my screen, feeling that god-awful feeling of my stomach lurching into my throat, feeling the unpleasant tingle of adrenalin rushing through every avenue it can find within my body, feeling my heart pound like it will surely burst from my chest, feeling my breaths grow quicker and more shallow.  And I sat there hating that I was I going through it yet again, over something so innocuous as a possible road trip to Boston with a friend to see a band that I've always wanted to see.  How can my brain be so broken?

The next response I usually have, after the anger at myself, is the embarrassment.  In this case, it came in the form of, "OK, how do I get out of the Boston idea without letting her know that I have fallen to pieces over the past five minutes like a fool?"  This is where the excuses start formulating.  A quick check of the calendar showed me that the Boston show is on a Thursday night- AHA! There's my out!  I dashed off another email to her, this one saying that a weeknight is not good for me for travel because of work.  Of course, she reminded me that I have vacation time I can use.  DAMN!  So, I came clean, and admitted to the anxiety attack I was having.

I forget sometimes that I have a wonderful network of very supportive friends, especially those who have known me for many years and who have seen me at my worst as well as at my best.  After 14 years, this friend has seen me at the farthest ends of either side of that spectrum, and yet remains my friend (though that has no doubt been very trying at times!).  So when I told her of the anxiety, and that I would really be more comfortable with the Hershey show, she simply replied, "No problem. Hershey it is."  And when I then apologized for being so damned goofy about things, her words back to me were, "Never apologize for being yourself.  You're great."   There was no judgment, there was no unsolicited advice on how to handle anxieties, there was no "Oh there, there you poor thing;" there was just a friend being a friend.  It was the perfect tonic.

So this time, instead of the usual all-or-nothing battle I wage with my demons, we can call it something of a draw. Yes, the demons won a little bit - they took the experience of a road trip to Boston away from me.  But I won a little bit, too.  I'm still going to see The Go-Go's, just as I had originally planned, so they didn't take that away, and I was reminded by a good friend that, for as much as these demons try to convince me differently, I'm really pretty OK.


__________________________

Related posts:

Table For One
Fighting The Demons Again

Fighting the Demons Again

"I sit up all night and think of evil things to do
And I've got something very special planned for you..."
-Stiv Bators, "Evil Boy" 

I'm about to take you to a very dark place.  I'm going to attempt to describe to you a facet of my personality that I don't care for very much; a version of me that I don't like showing to the world, but which, in certain given circumstances, flashes to the surface like a buoy being forcibly held under water and suddenly released. It's the part of me that drives people away, that sometimes scares people.  That sometimes scares me.

Nothing Is True

Monday night, I was thisclose to bringing this blog to an end, cutting my Twitter and Facebook ties, and retreating back into the hermit-like state I have fought for these past several years to escape from.  My obsessive, anxious demons sat on my shoulder all night like egging me on, double-dog-daring me to do it. "You don't owe anyone anything," the wheedling voice in my head told me, "and besides, none of them give a damn about you anyway..."

In a matter of moments that night, I went from the elation of watching my beloved Phillies clinch their fourth consecutive National League Eastern Division Championship to the depths of an OCD-fueled depression, over a broken link.  There are a number of outlets through which I advertise each new blog post, and whether it be Twitter or Facebook or wherever, I dutifully link to the newest post.  Mondays, of course, are NW4NW days, and I am grateful that so many folks have told me how they enjoy those posts and look forward to them. So yesterday, after publishing this week's installment, I posted links in all the usual places.

My workdays have been extra busy recently, so I did not have the opportunity throughout the day to check my stats to see how much traffic was coming in.  I usually repost the links in the afternoon to catch the crowd who isn't around to see them in the early morning, and this I did yesterday as well.  Then I settled in to watch the game, having not checked blog stats at all.  After the game, I checked the posted link, and saw that it reported 0 clicks.  "Hmm, that can't be right..." I thought, so I clicked the link myself - and was promptly met with a "Page Cannot Be Found" error. The link that I had been advertising all day was a bad link!

Embarrassed, I corrected the link and prepared an apology post, and that's when it struck me: No one had informed me the link was bad.  Even on the Fanpage and the blog's Twitter site, there was nothing.  Had no one even bothered to try to read my post? I pulled up my stats for the day, and there, mockingly, sat a great big zero. I did the math: 100 people follow the TWIWGTS Twitter site. 1400 follow my personal Twitter account. There are 200 on the Fanpage, and 500 on my personal Facebook page. Over 100 follow through Networked Blogs.  I've never claimed a humongous readership, but out of all those people, not one bothered to try to read my newly advertised blog post? What the fuck?

Here It Goes Again

Now, most normal, well-adjusted people would consider this what it was: an anomaly.  I can look back now, with some hindsight, and say to myself, "Well duh! If the link was broken and someone tried to click it, it wouldn't show up in your stats because they never even got to the site!"  And, I know from previous feedback that many of you who read regularly do access the site mainly through those links I put out there. 

(Psst - this would be a great time for me to recommend subscribing using the email form at the upper left of this page so that you never miss a post and never have to worry about bad links. Go, do it now, I'll wait...OK, great, let's continue.)

Sure, that all makes perfect sense now, but I've talked here before about my OCD and my constant anxious paranoia that everyone is secretly trying to set me up for embarrassment, and how cunning those beasts are as foes.  They grab onto any tiny shred of anything that could be twisted to validate their existence in my brain and go immediately to work.  This wasn't a simple, explainable anomaly that was really my fault to begin with for posting an incorrect link. No sir, this was an affront on me personally! An obvious attack, and clear evidence that those lying liars never read my blog! They don't think I'm a good writer! They don't care about the things I write about!

Then, the obsessive part builds upon that:  "Not even your friends who say they read your blog actually read it. They're lying to you! And if they lie about that, then they must be lying about everything! They're not really your friends! This is important to you and to them it's all a big joke!"  I found myself considering shutting the blog down completely. After all, why should I write if no one wants to read it?  And if these people aren't really my friends, why do I interact with them? I ought to just cut all ties - then they can't lie to me anymore.  Do you see how the insane spiral builds?  My mind starts making larger and larger leaps in logic until the thoughts become irrational, and inside I journey from offended to saddened to - if the spiral is left to continue unabated - anger.

And, if anyone happens to be around me or interact with me while this process is happening, they are met with that part of my personality I mentioned earlier - the part of me that I hate. As fate would have it, one person did interact with me right then, through Twitter.  Luckily, my obsessive thought-spiral hadn't spun out of control yet, and after a few somewhat coarse, chopped exchanges, I apologized for being "in a mood" and logged off.  Had she shown up a few minutes later, however, she would likely have encountered Evil Bryan.

My Evil Twin

Evil Bryan is a very dark version of myself, a personification of those OCD/anxiety demons. When I'm in that state, I revert to the behavior of cornered animal being attacked because inside that is how I feel.  In that state I have no concern whatsoever for other people's feelings, whoever they may be - I will simply lash out at them, trying - wanting - to make them feel as bad and hurt as I feel inside at that moment.  Most of the time, that attack or lashing out takes the form of words - loud, vile, cutting words.  On rare occasions, the lashing out has been physical, documented as early as the second grade version of me who threw chairs around a classroom in a rage against a teacher.  To say it is not a pretty sight is putting it mildly.

It is not pleasant to feel that out of control, and there has never been a time when, after the storm has passed, I haven't felt immensely remorseful and apologetic. Over the years, I have learned to recognize when that side of me is surfacing, and have learned to remove myself from other people. It has the same effect as starving a fire of oxygen: the flame tries to continue, but quickly sputters out.  If Evil Bryan is starved of people to lash out at, he sputters away to nothing relatively quickly.

And so it was Monday night. I logged off of Twitter and Facebook and went to bed, and Evil Bryan never showed up. I got up the next morning thinking the storm had passed and all was well, and went about my work day.  Pretty soon I noticed a shadow looming over me.  It was a shadow I hadn't seen in a long time.

I Just Can't Be Happy Today

As it turns out, what I thought was the end of the storm was really just the eye of the hurricane. Something more was coming, I could feel it - I know the feeling all to well, as anyone who has dealt with depression on any level does: it's not sadness, it's not anger, it's not anything that can be easily described.  It's sort of a feeling that something is very wrong, coupled with a complete lack of ability to put a finger on what that wrong thing is, multiplied by the frustration of knowing that you are powerless to fix it because you can't even define it.  It's an awful, awful feeling, and I usually respond to it by pushing everyone away and closing myself up in my own private cave - and so it has been this week.

I was excited because a group of us had planned to get together to create a local writers' group on Wednesday.  I've been trying to get past some rough writers' block recently, and I'm lucky to be in a city populated with excellent writers. Some interaction with them my have been just the thing to get the words flowing again. 

I didn't go.  I hid behind my standard "I don't drive so I can't get there" excuse - even though rides were available had I asked.  Truth was, I didn't want to be around anyone. I'm catching myself hermiting; I'm watching myself push people away; I'm feeling myself fight to fend off the demons. 

Every Day I Write The Book

I actually started writing this on Tuesday - and have been rewriting, editing, and adding to it all week.  If these demons have any redeeming value, it is that they have helped to break the dam holding back the words. Now the question begs - are the words making any sense? I don't know. I know it helps.  I have gone back and forth in my mind all week whether to even post this piece. Finally, I have decided that I should; I must.  I'm not crying out for help here; I'm not looking for anyone to give me the answers (not that anyone could - this is a thoroughly inner battle).  But when I posted the last introspective piece, there were some folks who emailed me or spoke to me and thanked me for writing it and sharing it, because they fully understood it and were somewhat relieved to know that at least one other person out there experienced what they did - they weren't alone and they weren't "crazy."  I, too, find solace in that idea that somewhere out there, at least one or two of you are reading this rambling jumble of words and thoughts and feelings and saying to yourself, "I know that. I've been there."  Even if I never hear from you, I know you're there, and I'm not alone.

So I suppose this post is, in addition to being a bit of "physician heal thyself," my way of saying to those of you who I have been pushing away, I'm sorry. And also saying to those of you who understand, thank you for being there.  As for the rest of you, I beg your indulgence when I need to post such things as this - don't worry, we'll be back to our regular programming in no time.

Table For One

"They're calling all the shots
They'll call and say they phoned
They'll call us lonely when we're really just alone..."
- "Oblivious" by Aztec Camera

Twitter exchange recently between @blurdmuliebrity and myself:

@blurdmuliebrity: Seeing people eating alone in a restaurant makes my heart hurt.

@berutt: Why? I do it all the time.

@blurdmuliebrity: You can always tell the lonely ones from the nonlonely ones and it's sad.

That got me thinking: which category do I fall into? I don't think of myself as "lonely," but am I? I don't feel lonely, at least no more so than I imagine everyone does at some point or another, but then again...

"Marriage is a Wonderful Institution,
but Who Wants to Live in an Institution?" - Groucho Marx

Being a 43-year-old, reasonably healthy, heterosexual male who has never been married puts me in a minority, sociologically speaking. Of course, good-intentioned people who believe that no one else could possibly be happy or content with their lives unless they are lived by a certain prescribed set of standards are always quick to ask, "Well, what's wrong with ya?"

The answer: "Nothing."

"Uh-huh," they nod, looking perplexed as they give me the once-over in search of glaring flaws.

It's just that I have no pressing drive to get married just for the sake of being married. Not that I haven't had the opportunities. In fact, there have been points in my life where I thought I found her, but history has shown that had I taken that plunge then, I would likely be just another divorce statistic now. That's not what I want. When and if the right woman comes along, yes, I'd like to marry. To this point in my life, I haven't found her.

Drive, She Said

That I have not yet settled down in some ways parallels another societal anomaly about me: I have never learned to drive. Again, the questions have become routine: "You got some kinda disability? You get into legal trouble that says you can't drive? Wait, you mean you've never had a license?"

Nope, nope, yep.

You think they looked perplexed about the still being single thing? This one really blows people's minds! I have a harder time rationalizing this one, though. Literally, the only thing that keeps from having a driver's license is that in 43 years, I've never gone through the process.

I walk a lot, I arrange for rides with friends or family, I use public transportation. I don't "miss" driving because I've never driven. I save a lot of money that would otherwise go to auto insurance, gas, repairs, upkeep. I've gone this far without driving, what would I need with it now?

It Came in the Mail

Sitting on the far corner of my desk is the invitation to my 25th high school reunion, which will happen this summer. A quarter century. Seems like forever ago, but it also seems like yesterday.

I have not gone to any of the previous reunions, and my rationale has always been the same: "Those who were my friends are still my friends; those who were marginal I could find if I needed to; the rest I didn't like back then and they didn't like me, so why would I want to see them?"

This reunion is a bit different. This reunion is occurring in a post-Facebook world.

When I joined Facebook over a year ago, I was stunned to find the first people reaching out to me were high school classmates - literally, people who I had probably not thought of very much at all since grabbing my diploma and heading off to college. Even more stunning, they were folks who, if they remembered me at all, I would not think would have remembered me fondly.

Almost two-thirds of our graduating class is on Facebook now, and I have connected with many of them. What has amazed me is that some of my classmates who, back then, would scarcely acknowledge I existed, are now among the people I most look forward to interacting with online. I've had to reassess my own judgments and perhaps let go of a grudge or two, and as a result I've found that more than a few of those who I would have put in the "why would I want to see them?" category before have turned into really neat folks.

Of course, not all of them have. It seems every high school class has those who are still living their lives as though we were all still back in school. They never left their cliques, they never expanded their world, they never opened their minds. Their lives apparently peaked when they were 18, and that's the world they want to hold onto. They were snobs, bullies, jerks then, and they remain unchanged.

So, when the question has invariably come up, "You going to the reunion?," I find myself unable to rely on my pat answer. Now there are a group of folks who I would like to see again - those who I have reconnected with online and found common ground today that didn't exist back then. But is my wish to see these folks in person stronger than my distaste for seeing those who judged and tormented me 25 years ago, and are likely to judge and torment me now?

The Demons Inside

Over the years, I have done that same cost-benefit analysis in my mind many times. It certainly is not the reunion which is bringing that out of me. No, this is a battle that wages constantly inside those of us who deal with social anxieties.

Social anxiety can range from mildly annoying to fully debilitating, and while mine fortunately falls toward the less severe end of the spectrum, it's still a formidable demon to fight. People who have never dealt with anyone who battles social anxiety, and who don't deal with it themselves, have no concept of what it does to a person. It is not simple shyness or introversion. It is a real fear, a gripping fear, that stops you from being in even those social situations that you want to take part in.

Some friends invite me out for dinner and drinks, or a group is getting together to go to a concert or to a ballgame. Maybe some friends are having a party and would like me to be there. Whatever the situation, I go through the same process: I happily say yes, I'd love to join in. Then, little by little, the fear starts creeping in. What if I do or say something embarrassing? What if they all laugh at me? What if there are people there I don't know, and they think poorly of me? What if this is all a set up to trap me into some sort of public humiliation? The anxious thoughts spiral out of control like that, each leading to the next more irrational, more frightening thought.

This is where my friend OCD kicks in. I was diagnosed with mild OCD several years back. Again, I'm fortunate that it falls to least severe end of the possible spectrum, but it's there nonetheless. In my case, OCD manifests more in obsession than in compulsion: the racing thoughts with no basis in reality - thoughts that do not bear even the most casual scrutiny, but thoughts that I can't always stop. OCD and social anxiety often go hand-in-hand, with one feeding the other. The physiological response is an adrenaline rush, and that "oh my God" feeling in the pit of the stomach. As I said, it's a very real, gripping fear.

And so, I begin to desperately look for a way to bow out of the invitation. I find myself hoping something comes up - bad weather, illness, whatever - that is just cause for either the event to be canceled or for me to easily say "sorry, can't make it." What is strange about this process is that while I am going through it, it's as if the rational, clear-thinking part of me is watching it happen, fully aware that it is irrational, fully aware that it is an anxiety/OCD response, and yet unable to shut it off.

Sometimes the rational side wins. I literally force myself out the door to whatever the event is. And you know what? Invariably, once I'm there, I find myself having a great time. And why not? I'm with friends taking part in enjoyable activities! If there are new people there, I tend to make new friends. I'm a surprisingly charming person. If they don't like me, that's OK too - their loss. Invariably, when it's over, I can't believe that I ever had an ounce of anxiety going in.

When the anxiety wins, I spend days kicking myself. Why the hell didn't I go? Why did I let that irrational fear paralyze me? Why do I stop myself from being around people?

It Wasn't Always Thus

Those who have known me for a long time know that I did not always suffer these anxieties. Through high school, college, and throughout my twenties, I was an extremely social person. The tiny fourth floor apartment I lived in with a woman I at one point thought I was going to marry was a gathering place, and when the party wasn't there you could bet that I'd be wherever the party was.

I can't tell you exactly how or when it all changed. That's the thing about anxieties - they creep up on you; they build slowly over time. I know that it did change, however, because at some point in my mid-thirties I looked around and said, "Where is everyone?" I had slowly turned myself into a hermit, steadily letting friendships atrophy. (You know, if you turn down or cancel enough invitations, people tend to stop inviting you to hang out with them.) Dating came to a near standstill: it's hard to take a woman out when you yourself are not comfortable going out among people in the first place.

I had become one of those folks who, if I did go out, would be eating dinner alone.

The demon that is anxiety and OCD is a cunning foe, constantly whispering in your ear, forever rationalizing it's existence. It's a siren song that requires constant vigilance to resist. Have you noticed a pattern in the items I've discussed in this piece? My still being a bachelor at age 43? My having never learned to drive? My having never attended one of my high school reunions?

In each case, I have at my disposal a seemingly perfectly plausible rationalization; a ready answer for all the questions that are regularly thrown at me. And, in each case, those "rationalizations" fold under the most casual scrutiny.

The Therapist Behind the Bar

Because the most casual scrutiny reveals the flimsiness of my rationales, I tend not to scrutinize them. When @blurdmuliebrity made her comment, especially about being able to tell the lonely from the nonlonely among those who dine alone, I immediately wondered if she would be able to tell which category I fell into. Then the thought: Do I know which category I fall into?

Naturally, anyone would rather be among those who are alone, which suggests a choice in the matter, than among those who are lonely, which suggests a far worse lot in life. Surely, I'm among the alone, right? I suddenly found in my mind that those rationales were not only subject to casual scrutiny, but that I had put them under a microscope. Flimsy? Hell they're weak as water.

Of course I want a wife! Of course I want someone to share my dinner (and my thoughts and my world) with! You know what stops me from going out and finding her? That damn irrational fear. That fear of being judged, of being set up, of being mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.

Of course I should learn to drive! That in itself would open so many more restaurants to go to where I could share my meal with someone. You know what stops me from doing it? That damn irrational fear. That fear of failing and in turn being judged, mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.

Of course I want to go to my 25th high school reunion! There are people I really want to see again, and to hell with those with whom I will never get along. You know what stops me from going? That damn irrational fear. That fear of being judged, of being set up, of being mocked and embarrassed. Of not being good enough.

I don't think I mentioned yet that @blurdmuliebrity happens to be a bartender, and in that role I have no doubt she's seen her share of the alone - and the lonely - patronizing the establishment where she works. Good bartenders have a sense of their clientele. Good bartenders also happen to be fairly insightful amateur therapists.

A woman I knew several years back and was very fond of was an artist. She made a piece for me that I treasure greatly. It's a simple chunk of rock into which is inscribed the following:

"Man, like every other animal, tends to be passive. Unless goaded by circumstance, scarcely does he take the trouble to reflect upon his condition."

That Twitter exchange from the other night has goaded me into some self-reflection, the way a good therapist would. The writer in me demands that I express that self-reflection in words, and the blogger in me says "Share it!"

So there it is. Now, I have two choices: change, or continue. I don't know yet which path I'm going to take. Change at 43 is tough, but certainly not impossible. Either path I follow, I will continue to fight the demons of anxiety and OCD, so neither will be a cakewalk. Decisions, decisions. I need my strength - maybe a good meal.

Table for one, please.