There was one person in class tonight who didn’t talk.
. . .
And it WASN’T ME, BITCHES!
I was pretty much forced to, but whatever, I did it and this time I had stuff written down and I probably still sounded ridiculous and you know what? I’m done caring how I sounded. The main focus is that I did it, I spoke, I gave my opinion, I did an analysis in words (partially) and even though I left out half of the analysis, I did something.
That’s an accomplishment for someone who rarely ever does so.
Even after I said my piece and the professor picked up another part of the story and said a few words that I didn’t cover, I kept thinking I was wrong in what I said just because he said something else about a different half of the story. That’s bad habit, you see? People think that’s their anxiety–it’s a result of being hyper-aware and anxious, yes, but it’s a bad habit. And bad habits can be broken with good habits. These are good things to recognize. Once I realized it, I kept telling myself in my head that yo, just because he also found something else in the story doesn’t mean you’re wrong and doesn’t mean you should be embarrassed that you didn’t say every little detail in the book. I mean, hell, I don’t even remember what I said: my memory is that blank when I’m talking in front of people. Basically my words have less than a tenth of a millisecond to form and get out of my mouth or else anxiety pounces on them and they never escape. So I talk fast and about whatever the fuck until I feel my mouth is dry enough to stop. Don’t know what I said, don’t know if it made sense, don’t know how many times I repeated myself; whatever. I talked, didn’t I? One step at a time, what do you people want from me?
Do you want me to talk or do you want me to analyze? Choose one, damnit.
So tonight was a major success. I’ve been worried about it since last week when I learned we’d be doing a Socratic seminar.
The reason I hated the ones in high school was because they gave each of us two note cards and said you were only allowed to talk twice. Each time you spoke, you had to toss a card in the middle of the circle and once both of your cards were in the circle, you were out. It was a way to try and force people into talking. Did I ever talk? Nope, not once. Another big middle finger to people who think quietness and introvertedness is a bad thing. It’s not. Fuck you.
Even this spellcheck thinks introvertedness means “disinterestedness”. I get “introvertedness” isn’t a word, but an introvert isn’t someone disinterested in things, it’s someone who is focused in their head and thinks quite a lot, perhaps better and longer than people who can’t seem to ever shut their fucking mouth.
So many anxiety plays a major part in my life and I think to an extent it always will. But I’m learning a lot. I’m learning I am the master, not he. Like I’ve mentioned in a past post: don’t play the victim card. I could blame every issue in my life on my mental health and I could blame all of my mental health on my past, and I could get away with it too, and people would feel sympathetic and look upon me with pity.They’d also probably get pretty annoyed. But I don’t want their pity and I don’t want their scrutiny. I want them to see how hard I have to fight so they can see the struggle that exists. Once they see the struggle for what it is, terms like “lazy” won’t ever again describe a depressive disorder and people won’t confuse “shy” with social anxiety disorder.
The physical symptoms piss me off sometimes though. I get an insatiable urge to yawn. Does anyone else, or am I cast alone on a banana leaf raft in a raging ocean with that? I just keep yawning and yawning . . . people probably think wow, does she not sleep? Is she bored? Or I’ll get some weird air bubbles trapped in my throat muscles (I’m assuming because they spasm so much) and they kind of ricochet off my windpipe and make some weird internal gurgling noise, like your stomach is rumbling . . . but in your throat. Then I get the customary shakes, although they come off more like violent, brief Tourettes-type twitches. My face flushes, but not as often as it used too, and I break out in a cold sweat. It’s all a nasty experience that quits instantaneously once I’ve bypassed the anxious situation.
That level of heightened awareness is what causes my memory lapses. It’s surging through my brain and surging through my body and sometimes I feel like I can’t control it. You know, the common “your amygdala gets hijacked” sensation.
Everyone feels like they can’t control it but you know, like I said, honesty is the best policy and if you tell yourself that every day than you’ve been lying to yourself, my friend. There will always be ways for you to control your body. Even people with neurological disorders who learn coping mechanisms that ease their tension, their anxiety, and their stress gain better control over their disorders.
Don’t ever lie to yourself because you’ll start believing it.
I’ve been lying to myself before I even knew what lying meant.
Now I have to learn how not to lie.
I know that I read facial expressions differently than people. Hell, I thought an axe murderer was following me on his bike in the woods: it’s an understatement to say I exaggerate things. But I do. I exaggerate people and I exaggerate faces. I always see them negatively. I’ve known this for awhile now and I tend not to believe everything I see. If my brain tells me “that person is giving you a dirty look, they hate you”, well then I’m more inclined to believe it’s the opposite.
Maybe they are giving me a dirty look. But the point here is not everyone is. And that’s what I fail to see.
Not everyone has a sarcastic or disapproving tone in their voice, not everyone thinks what I say is stupid. And if my brain tells me that, well then liar, liar pants on fire, shut the fuck up; you’re not my sire.
Like my Rhyme? Yeah I made that shit up. *Brushes off shoulders*
And it’s not my sire, it’s not my king; my thoughts are independent of how my brain makes me feel. That’s one of the most important lesson I’ve learned so far in my short life. Once you can separate who you are and what you want from that evil thing that wants your soul for hire, than you’re on the right path. No one’s going to give you your life back, no one’s going to give you happiness, and a pill sure as hell ain’t going to do it, not to the extent you want it to. Take responsibility for who you are and what you think and admit that you have a problem.
Don’t admit that you’re helpless, admit that you have a problem.
Two very different things.
As for now, here’s a picture I took of a candle flame.