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#1
11th September 2016, 20:59
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My Story
I have decided recently to write about my anxiety condition and share it with the world. It's lengthy but if you have the time and inclination feel free to read. . .
The last time you went out in public. Did you pass anyone? Can you recall what anyone you passed looked like? How about their facial expression as they passed? No, probably not. Why would you ? There are more important things to occupy your mind with. Taking things a step further, when was the last time you confronted someone to ask why they keep giving you a funny look? Have you asked someone you***8217;re with to confirm whether that person did in actual fact give you a funny look or not? When was the last time that your day was ruined because of a supposed look a complete stranger may have given you. I***8217;ve asked around and most people***8217;s response is simply a bemused shake of the head as it***8217;s something they haven***8217;t ever thought about for long enough to even have a view. November 1997. The exact date escapes me. I was fifteen years old. I remember being very self-conscious as I was growing my hair to reflect some of my favourite Indie band members as well as a newfound love of guitar playing. My hair was at the frustrating ***8220;in-between***8221; stage, when I used to walk in any breeze it used to stick out at the sides like wings. This was extremely irritating so I spent a lot of time while walking continually trying to stick it down behind my ears. But it was a waste of time, a fresh gust of wind, the wings were back. I carried on trying though, at least for another few months, until I was annoyed enough I had it cut before it ever really became long. On that gusty November evening I passed several people. I recall feeling slightly irritated about them afterwards, thinking they had somehow given me a ***8220;dirty look***8221;. I saw my dad soon after, and it was still sufficiently occupying my thoughts I was moved to ask him ***8220;I thought a couple of people gave me a funny look when I was out***8221;. His exact response has been lost to memory, but it was something along the lines of ***8220;don***8217;t be so silly***8221;. It wasn***8217;t instant. I can***8217;t remember the exact progression from that day to a being virtually unable to leave home less than five years later, but it revolved around the same thing ***8211; my fear of how strangers perceive me. If it***8217;s a male, my perception will usually be they don***8217;t respect me, thinking they***8217;re better; I***8217;m a loser, comical, unworthy; their gaze or drawn to me simply because I stand out in a negative manner. Basically, If it***8217;s negative, it***8217;s a possibility. A female will be along similar lines, just add thinking that I***8217;m very unattractive and the last guy they would want to talk to or socialise with. After a ***8220;look***8221; occurs. My heart quickens and mind races, and will need to be replayed over and over, attempting to extract truth, whether it was my mind playing tricks or if they did in fact give a dirty look. I***8217;ll imagine someone else in my place, someone I know of a similar age and same gender perhaps. Would they have received the same reaction? If I can reason they would have, I can find some kind of peace with it. If not, I try to figure out what it is so many people see in me that receives such derision. Sometimes I***8217;m so vigilant of people that if they give me a cursory glance I will watch them like a hawk, giving them repeated looks to see if they***8217;re going to do it again, becoming oblivious to my gaze upon them. If they notice me looking, they will return the look possibly wonder why I might keep looking at them. Of course, I try to keep any surveillance subtle, but sometimes it can become obvious. People have told me this. I don***8217;t really acknowledge my influence in the entire process. I just view it as ***8220;a person who kept looking at me***8221; which feeds into my neurosis. If there is someone with me, my girlfriend, mum or dad perhaps, I will ask them, hoping they can put my mind at ease. If I***8217;m with a friend or one of the people I try to hide it from, then I internalise it and go through the process in a quiet moment (a toilet visit is ideal). It***8217;s incredible how tight the lid I keep on this is, so many people in my company regularly have no idea what I go through every day. It***8217;s human nature to glance at others. Of course it is. Anyone in public for a period of time will receive glances. In my case, perception of multiple negative glances can lead to a mentally cluttered feeling as the day wears on. I sit there after I return home feeling like I***8217;m wearing a backpack containing a weight inside so heavy I can barely move. The issue isn***8217;t restricted to any gender or age group. I can equally believe a man in his eighties has given me a derisive look as I can a teenage girl. It goes across the spectrum regardless of height, weight, ethnic background, disability, you name it. There is a ***8220;go-to***8221; for just about everything. If someone smiles in my direction, they must be laughing or smirking. If it***8217;s anything vaguely resembling a frown I take it as a dirty look. Looking down or looking away once eye contact is made is another. Sometimes, even if I don***8217;t actually see them look my way I will take it as the person having seen me before I saw them and having already passed judgement. Merely holding their gaze in my direction for a second too long is sufficient to get the juices of paranoia bubbling up. It doesn***8217;t need to be a blatant dirty look, it can be very subtle and as already mentioned, I will analyse the memory of it later, methodically breaking it all down. In the meantime, I carry it around, weighing heavily on my psyche. In spite of periods in which I actively avoided leaving home I have rallied numerous times. There was a point in 2009 when I was close to what I would call ***8220;normality***8221;. The condition was as marginalised as at any point in my adult life. In spite of this, it loitered, like a shadowy figure in the distance. Over time, it crept its way back in, increasing its influence once again. When I look back I can acknowledge and feel good at receiving dozens of unprompted compliments from a wide array of people. Compliments based on my looks, compliments based on the person I am. Yet, even though this validation comes, any benefits are temporary and I soon revert back to an anguished ***8220;siege***8221; mentality that has become a back-seat driver on my journey through life. In public I can often appear aloof and unapproachable. If someone (even a stranger) speaks to me then I***8217;ll smile and chat comfortably. The default aura of unapproachability acts in part as a defence mechanism though, ***8220;If people are wary then perhaps there***8217;s less chance they***8217;ll sneer or snigger***8221; I think. My movements can become mechanical and stiff. At least, that***8217;s how it feels. I***8217;m a person with a very active, sarcastic, playful sense of humour all things being equal. But when I***8217;m on the street, I***8217;m not laughing, I***8217;m not smiling. I***8217;m concerned with taking care of what I have to take care of then returning home as soon as possible. Going out for a stroll for no particular reason? Not a chance. This condition has led to a ***8220;Me against the world***8221; mentality where I lack trust in the general public or their motivations. I wish no one ill but frustration arouses anger at times based on the perceived injustice of it. This has at times led to arguments, even physical altercations. Believe me when I say I derive great shame from that. But my frustration has, I***8217;m sorry to say, boiled over from time to time. There are things in life I haven***8217;t chosen not to do because of this condition. For instance, I have never learned to drive. How can I possibly be in control of a vehicle which could on any given day contain the people dearest to me if I am susceptible to becoming distracted by anyone who might glance my way? It would be irresponsible to do so. There is no ***8220;off***8221; switch. When I***8217;m in public, the switch is set firmly to ***8220;on***8221; and I***8217;m sure it would be if I was at the wheel of a car too which is a chance I***8217;m simply not willing to take. In spite of this condition I have succeeded in many areas of my life. I achieved a First Class Degree in Media Arts five years ago, have worked as a self-employed videographer/filmmaker and writer. I have a beautiful, caring girlfriend and an intelligent and gorgeous six-year old daughter. I***8217;ve walked the streets of some of the busiest, most densely populated cities on the planet: New York, Paris, London. I***8217;ve been training in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Mixed-Martial Arts for seven years, making great progress, becoming a well-respected member of the gym in the process. In spite of that, any success and joy has always been tempered with struggle. When I enter a room I scan intuitively seeking what I perceive to be ***8220;threats***8221; (as in, those most likely to give a dirty look). My girlfriend tested me recently when I told her I could describe every person in the restaurant, their approximate age, their distance from us and what they were wearing. She tested me, asking what the person behind looked like. I described them to a tee. It***8217;s as if I have subconsciously trained myself deal with this condition in the most efficient manner possible. Even writing this, I can hear people reading it thinking: ***8220;What does it matter anyway?***8221; and ***8220;They don***8217;t even know you!***8221;, yes that***8217;s true. I***8217;ve lost count of the number of times I***8217;ve attempted to shake free of the shackles by telling myself it doesn***8217;t matter. Try as I might, it doesn***8217;t work. Logic has no home when this anxiety is in full flow. (cont in next post...) 
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#2
11th September 2016, 21:00
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Re: My Story
(cont...)
I***8217;ve witnessed many with their own inner demons who douse their pain with recreational drugs and alcohol or self-harm perhaps. These vices are not for me. I***8217;ve always been a believer if something is constructed in the mind it can in turn be deconstructed in the mind. I wasn***8217;t born with this. I had lived for almost sixteen years before the early seeds of this problem were sown. If it was learned, then surely it can be unlearned. Since the issue relates primarily to strangers whom I never subsequently encounter I don***8217;t always receive the opportunity to ***8220;disprove***8221; my theories. On occasion however I do meet them and as a result I have been ***8220;proven wrong***8221; many times. I may wind up in that person***8217;s company and it will quickly become apparent they hadn***8217;t given me a dirty look. This makes me feel better momentarily. Any joy is short-lived. The entire process soon begins again on another street, while passing another anonymous face. Any struggle isn***8217;t necessarily more apparent in a crowd as when passing a single figure on an otherwise deserted street. That isn***8217;t to say I haven***8217;t struggled in crowds or crowds are somehow a safe-haven, because that isn***8217;t true. You can however, as the saying goes ***8220;hide in plain sight***8221;, effectively cloaked within a mass of humanity. It***8217;s the feeling of being watched and in turn, judged which disturbs me. I can occasionally walk the street, passing people without identifying any negativity from them. On an average journey where I leave home for a couple of hours however, I can usually expect at least five or six to arise that will sufficiently occupy my thoughts during and then after a trip. If I have a trip that goes well I***8217;ll return home feeling ***8220;unscathed***8221;, but it will always come back to hit me next time, or the time after that. Living like this on a daily basis is extremely demoralising. Any prospect of a relaxed family day is unthinkable. Can I make the trip? Yes, of course I can but it is usually a tense, edgy experience, not only for me but whoever I***8217;m with. If the people I***8217;m with aren***8217;t aware of my struggle there is even greater pressure, because I obviously don***8217;t want them to become aware of it. Help has been sought. I have taken 225mg of Venlafaxine daily for years and engaged with a local Depression and Anxiety Service but nothing has seemed to really go anywhere. Recently an impasse has been reached. This particular hamster has grown weary of his wheel. I***8217;ve realised I (and my loved ones) cannot be condemned to a lifetime of this. I communicate well and can socialise with most people I meet. It***8217;s usually in what***8217;s unsaid which disturbs the most. In actual fact, speaking to people often helps as I can then get more of a bead on their perception of me. It***8217;s in what***8217;s unsaid. The silence. The silence kills. There have been countless programmes on TV featuring people with facial disfigurements who are stared, even pointed at by insensitive passers-by. I watch in amazement as they continue with their day unaffected and resolute. I don***8217;t consider myself an envious person, but I envy that quality, I really do. There are times I***8217;ve felt resigned to remaining in its grasp for good. I can get very down about it. Sometimes sitting there, not speaking to anyone, feeling hopeless and helpless in equal measure. It***8217;s an extremely unpleasant, sinking feeling, but when you perceive derision in at least a dozen people***8217;s eyes every time you set foot outside, then feel negative self-image crushing your spirits after you return home it comes with the territory. When I metaphorically pull myself upright and trudge forward like punch-drunk Boxer in the final round, trying to hold on and not get knocked out before the bell. The process starts again tomorrow. There***8217;s a ***8220;new fight***8221; outside the front door. One ***8220;solution***8221; could be to never leave home. That***8217;s no solution, it***8217;s merely hiding away, refusing to face my tormentor. I will never resign myself to that. I***8217;ve written this as a first step to figuring out the process that led me here. In writing and sending this out into the world like a message in a bottle perhaps I can gain greater insight regarding my condition. If I can begin to connect to the root cause, maybe I can then edge closer to a solution. From there, perhaps I can connect with people who have a similar condition. I***8217;ve met people with Social Anxiety but my symptoms seem to differ considerably from what I have come to understand as the classic hallmarks of Social Anxiety. A change needs to be made. I refuse to continue, running the risk of another altercation, potentially being deprived of liberty as a result. I also refuse to let important moments in my daughter***8217;s upbringing be allowed to pass without fully enjoying them much longer. She can***8217;t bear witness to the discomfort, preoccupation and on occasion anger as Daddy wrestles with this condition. I wish those around me could experience it for a short period. They tell me it***8217;s nonsense, on occasion growing agitated because they believe I***8217;m imagining these reactions and they have no substance. I sometimes see the folly of my thought process and agree, but niggles of doubt remain, that***8217;s all it takes. There are times after a bad day I***8217;m inconsolable. It feels like my very soul is being strangled. They can***8217;t understand that gut-wrenching feeling. There are worse things of course, illnesses more debilitating to mind and body. But pain is relative. One person***8217;s struggle can***8217;t be compared to another. I feel ***8220;guilt***8221; however. Guilt of whether I ***8220;deserve***8221; to feel like this over a series of perceived slights that at worst hurt nothing but my precious ego. Regardless of any guilt though, it persists. This can be beaten. I feel it in my bones. I need to. To believe otherwise is surrender. Life is precious; there are moments which need to be fully relished not merely muddled through. There are people who have faced worse afflictions than this and overcome them. There must be options, possibilities that my eyes aren***8217;t open to but what I***8217;m struggling to believe is if I will ever find them. My wish is for as many eyes as possible to see this. The greater number of people who read it, the greater chance there is its words will resonate with someone. . . My mind, eyes, ears and heart remain open.
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#3
11th September 2016, 21:16
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Re: My Story
That's a lot of reading.
 Welcome Pinpointing, one thing - This guy came up to me and said "I don't like the look of you." I said, "WELL DON'T FUKIN LOOK AT ME THEN"
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#4
12th September 2016, 16:38
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Re: My Story
I can relate, as I'm sure most others here can. What has helped me is a sort of mental trick I play on myself. I've mentioned it here but I'm never sure I'm really putting it particularly well so let me try again:
Next time someone gives you a funny look, don't stress yourself with "whether it happened" and "what it means" because chances are you'll never find out. Assume it happens and that it means they don't like you. Then ask yourself why you should care what someone like that thinks. Give yourself permission to feel slightly negatively about this total stranger. You are under no obligation to like them. Look at them, scowling, there in their angry little world. Of course I would advise stopping some way short of coshing them over the head or anything but just allow yourself to have that little bit of power against them, in your head, the same sort they wield over you. The idea is to free your mind up from worry about what they think, and fill up the space that the worry occupies with more positive thoughts about "oh, look, I now think of myself in a slightly new and interesting way." It is also, in my opinion, important to bear in mind the risks of thinking like this - that you may end up with an inflated sense of ego which, coupled with years of injustice (perceived or otherwise) potentially makes for a bit of a volatile mix. So just be mindful of that, and set yourself a standard ("No, I'm not going to be one of those blah people that starts trouble and is terminally p1$$ed off, I'm going to be better than that") It would be interesting to hear if this is in any way useful advice (or indeed whether it's total crap) Quote:
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#5
12th September 2016, 17:16
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Re: My Story
We are all gonnae snuff it, so we might as well have a laugh on the wiy.
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#6
16th September 2016, 18:58
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Re: My Story
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