This past weekend has been a banner one for me as far as decreasing my isolation and reaching out to my friends. Of course, you’ve read about my coffee date with K on Friday and my grocery trip with A on Saturday. Well, I discovered that I needed to go out once again, and to the mall no less where it was teeming with people. Mind you, I am not a mall rat; in fact, I cannot remember the last time I was there. However, there is one thing I need every year and can only find it when the independent vendors set up their kiosks at Christmas time. I use this huge grid calendar that I hang on the wall right inside my bedroom door. Each square is large enough to accommodate multiple entries and to write them in large letters so I can read them. Therefore, I called K and asked if she would mind taking me to the mall.
We were not sure at which end to park, so we picked one anchor store and went inside. The idea of walking all over the place to find this particular vendor was rather daunting to me. However, we spotted a mall security guard as soon as we got there. He did not know where it was, and upon spying a walking talkie radio, I suggested he call out and find out if anyone of the security guards knew where it was.
Now that we knew where to go, we started negotiating our way among the throngs of people, impatient kids running away from their parents, and a mass of strollers with shrieking babies. I hugged the interior wall for fear that someone would kick out my cane from underneath me. I was not handling the mass of people very well, but stuck to my guns as I looked at this adventure as a mission to complete. Having K there made all the difference as I could focus on her and keep up a running dialogue as we walked.
I espied our target and once acquired we headed directly there. I got my calendar and out we went. That said, I am still fairly sure I don’t want to return, at least by myself as the crowds were somewhat suffocating. However, I did accomplish my stated mission and nothing happened to me. A week ago you couldn’t have paid me to insert myself into that situation. K has been a valuable friend as she knows my boundaries and is more than willing to be there whenever I need her. Lesson learned: I can tolerate what I most fear, even if I have to have a friend walk me through the process. I am still not capable of doing these things alone; having someone with me allows me to concentrate on my continued conversation and ignore the people. I did not have a panic attack.
Afterwards, I invited her back to my house where we talked for about an hour before she had some things she needed to attend to. This is the first time I have let anyone into my home since that fated night. All in all, I feel as though I making progress as far as my isolation goes. Now I have something to talk about when I go to group later this morning.©2009
Sharon, from the comment you made to my post below, I know you must feel that you mean well by passing along “the perfect scripture” and to remind me that the people at the church are my friends. However, while on the surface everyone is nice—and I acknowledge that they have been there when I have needed them during trying times by praying for me—as soon as I walk out the door, that’s it. Yes, A and I actually had lunch the Thursday before my debacle; she brought me my cell phone before I was transferred to the psych ward, and has texted me a couple of times since (which I have patently refused to respond). D did call once after I missed the second service wondering if I was OK or sick, or something; and no, I did not return her call either.
It’s not that I believe they don’t care. I believe there is an intrinsic obligation from Godly Christians to feel they “ought” to care because it is their duty. There is no friendship base there. There is no level playing field. I have nothing in common with anyone. I am the only single, queer, mental case of the lot. How could anyone possible begin to relate to me—to be able to truly “get it?” A friend is someone who is there no matter what whenever you need them. And I can’t operate with just one friend because, realistically speaking, one person may not be able to be “there” due to his or her own personal obligations at that time. Everyone at the church is married and has (or will be having) children. They are all wrapped up in their own lives and obligations. I am a mere blip on the radar screen. With the exception of A and D, there has never been any interaction outside of church (and those were limited at best and the one time A and I actually made plans, I had to initiate the action—something that I am extremely uncomfortable doing). OK, yes, A was truly there when I needed her as she did bring me my cell phone. But as with all of the couples, my only down time is after 1900 on weekdays and weekends—the time they all spend with their spouses/family. I feel as though I am an intruder taking away from their time together. And I don’t want to be the fifth wheel, either—easily the situation since I am the only single person there.
There are just too many people at the church right now. When I walk through those doors, I feel paralyzed for fear that someone will speak to me. I have felt, crossing that threshold of just wanting to stand there and quietly walk out the door, hoping that no one notices me. I can’t be myself, so I put on my façade and pretend that all is well. What should I say? That I am full of uncontrollable rage; don’t forget that I am queer and missing being a part of that community I so desperately want to belong; oh yeah, and by the way, I tried to commit suicide—and most likely will again (it’s all I think about. But have no fear, I will not make the same mistake I did last time)? I don’t want to have scripture quoted to me; I don’t want to be prayed for. I just want to be left alone. You see, that is the conundrum that bipolar and borderline personality persons face. I ache so much for contact, yet at the same time, I am repulsed by it. I can’t walk into a room full of people without feeling so full of fear and anxiety. I don’t expect you, or any of the others to understand that.
So, that brings everything back full circle. No one at the church can possibly understand what I am going through, much less know who the real “me” is. All interactions have been and would continue to be quite superficial at best. I am tired of the façade I must present every single Sunday. Sure, I let my hair down when I was facing that strike, being laid off, and that Six Sigma training I was terrified of taking—but those issues in and of themselves are also superficial. I won’t share anything about who Alix really is for fear that I will become someone to avoid so that they don’t have to deal with my “issues.” Then when that happens, everything has boiled to the surface and, once again, I will see their subtle detachment slowly begin to occur as I have seen with other people to whom I have attempted to reach out over the years of my life. Very simply put, I am tired of the rollercoaster ride—my life such as it is. I’m done with it all.
Surprised as I am, I appreciate the time you took to make the comment. I am not trying to trivialize your effort, but the simplistic approach of dashing off a scripture and telling me of course that I still have a group of friends only validates my perceptions, hence this post.©2009
I can’t explain this sudden, overwhelming, heart-gripping panic that I am riddled with right this very minute. I was in the other room, sitting on my sofa drinking tea when I noticed the time: 1935. It’s Sunday evening. In less than 12 hours, I will be at work. I can’t do this. I can’t log on and open my email for fear of what is waiting for me. The requests, the questions, my clients wanting all of me all at the same time. I don’t know what I am doing. I can’t answer their questions. There is so much expected of me: project deadlines—everything becoming due all at the same time. The details, the minutiae—my desk is piled so high with stacks of minutes from meetings: actions items required of me, follow-up details I am responsible for. I can’t do this any more. I have a training class all day on Tuesday to complete my Six Sigma Yellow Belt requirement consisting of four separate courses, each to be completed with an 80% passing score (with only 10 questions each made of “choose the best answers of the following…” format meaning I can only miss two on each) followed with a final exam of 25 equally-formatted questions again at a pass rate of 80%. There is too much fucking crap all hitting me at the same time. I can’t breathe. I’m afraid to go to sleep knowing that, in the blink of an eye, I will face what terrifies me the most. I can’t do this job. I don’t know what the hell I am doing. Everything is going to blow up in my face. It’s now 1947. I can’t stop time. Tomorrow is coming, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Oh, my God, what the fuck is happening to me? Where is this terror coming from? I can’t move…©2009
This past weekend has been a banner one for me as far as decreasing my isolation and reaching out to my friends. Of course, you’ve read about my coffee date with K on Friday and my grocery trip with A on Saturday. Well, I discovered that I needed to go out once again, and to the mall no less where it was teeming with people. Mind you, I am not a mall rat; in fact, I cannot remember the last time I was there. However, there is one thing I need every year and can only find it when the independent vendors set up their kiosks at Christmas time. I use this huge grid calendar that I hang on the wall right inside my bedroom door. Each square is large enough to accommodate multiple entries and to write them in large letters so I can read them. Therefore, I called K and asked if she would mind taking me to the mall.
