Anxiety: The story of how I became shy, what I mean by that & why some folks are skeptical
Since I last posted, I've gained some new LJ friends. Hi! *waves*
This, being my personal journal, is where I post rants, memes and stuff about me. I don't usually bother setting my posts to friends only, since I have a few friends who read this who are not LJ users, but every once in a while I do. I like comments, but I prefer to be able to identify the commenters, so if you're not logged in, please leave a name or something so I know who you are.
That said, here's a re-write of the post I tried to post at lunch yesterday, that disappeared into the ether.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The other day I set, "Joni feels like maybe, possibly she might be emerging from the post-anxiety issues shell. Being shy is a huge pain in the a$$. It would be so nice to be over it. Also, YAY KICKBALL!" as my status on Facebook. As often happens, when I mention being shy, this status elicited a bit of skepticism on the part of some friends and started a lengthy (for facebook comments) conversation. It got me to thinking.
Only a few people know about my anxiety issues and the affect that had on me. Most of my other friends have a hard time believing this shyness business, and understandably so. Also, I don't mean shy in exactly the same way it's usually meant, but I don't have any other word to describe what I do mean.
Back in my teens and 20s I was anything but shy. I was in choir and drama. I made friends pretty easily and some of them became very close friends. Sure, sometimes I found myself in intimidating situations, but that's not the same as being shy.
Fast forward to sometime in the mid aughts. It must have been 2005ish when it began, subtly at first... I started to feel nervous a lot. I didn't know why I was nervous, but I also didn't realize that anything was wrong. Slowly, it got worse.
Gradually, I began to find flying more and more frightening. Even though I'd never been afraid of flying before, I missed the clue bus and still didn't realize that there was something actually wrong with me. I just tried hard to convince my boss to allow me to travel less often. I had other reasons to want to travel less, anyway.
The worst part, by far, was when the anxiety started to get really bad at night. I've always been a light sleeper, but it got to the point where I barely slept at all. I lived alone in a house that happened to be a very creaky house. As it cooled off at night it would creak and groan and make all kinds of noises. These noises became terrifying to me. Even though I knew, rationally, that it was just my house cooling and settling, I would have to get up over and over again to check all the windows and the door, making sure they were locked and peering out to see if someone was outside, trying to get in.
See, looking back on my childhood, I now believe my Dad probably suffered from anxiety for most of the time that I knew him. He had a thing about keeping the doors and windows locked so that the “bogey man” wouldn't get us. He would say that in a joking way, but it was clear that he was serious. I think his fears stuck with me, and when I started to have my own anxiety problems, my mind dug up the same sort of fears to focus on. The brain is a funny thing like that.
It really didn't help at all that one night, during all of this, somebody actually did try to get into my house. I woke up to the sound of someone jiggling my front door handle. The weird thing about it was that, in that moment, I didn't actually get scared. I got up, turned on my outside lights and looked out various windows to see if I could see anyone outside. I called the police, but I knew there was little chance that anything would come of that, and went back to bed. I thought there was probably a good chance that it was just a drunk college kid, lost and trying to find home. That sort of thing wasn't exactly unheard of in that neighborhood, so it was a nice theory to hang on to.
The next day, however, the fear really set in. As I arrived home from work I noticed something I hadn't been aware of the night before. The screen of my bathroom window had been taken down and set aside. Whoever had been trying to get in hadn't just tried the door. He/She had also tried to get in the bathroom window. Somehow that made the drunk college student theory seem less likely and the whole situation started to feed into my anxiety. Before that I had known, deep down, that nobody was really trying to get in. Sometimes I could use that knowledge to talk myself to sleep. Suddenly, that wasn't an option anymore. I lost the one weapon I had to fight against my (previously) irrational fears.
Fortunately, it was fall and winter was coming, so there wasn't any need to keep my windows open at night, something I still have trouble with. By the following summer, I was able to move into the basement apartment of the house next door. This allowed me to stay cool all summer long, so I didn't need to open windows. I also felt a bit safer because I had more locked doors between me and the outside, as well as upstairs neighbors who would hopefully hear me if something were to happen. My anxiety didn't go away, but I was less terrified of somebody breaking in and hurting me.
On the other hand, I had noisy upstairs neighbors and a gas furnace that occasionally came down with leaks. So really, I just had a different set of fears to focus on. I still had a lot of trouble sleeping, and it had been making me sick.
I don't remember exactly when it was that my doctor clued in and started asking me questions about my anxiety, but eventually she recognized the problem and put me on a supplement to help control the anxiety and the panic attacks that had started to occur, while she figured out and helped me deal with the underlying cause.
But the truth is, the damage had already been done. I'd spent a year or two being increasingly afraid of things. I started to find it more and more difficult to step out of my comfort zones. I started to keep everyone at arm's length. I retreated more and more from anything social. I barely went out. The only parties or outings I attended were held by my upstairs neighbors or involved my closest of friends.
I still tried to do things that I felt I should be able to do. I became involved with a local political organization & volunteered to register voters, and helped out with other things as well. None of it was easy, but I've always had tricks for forcing myself to do things that were difficult.
Eventually, I changed jobs, which made things better in some ways and worse in others. I had stopped taking the stuff my doctor had given me, but ended up having to go back on it for a while.
As of today, I've been off it for 10 or 11 months and I've only had one panic attack and a couple of nervous days in that time. I've gotten a lot better at recognizing what sorts of things are likely to set me off, and avoiding them, and I know I can go back on the supplement if I need to.
The problem I still have is that I've become awfully shy. Going to parties or social functions where I will be amongst a large percentage of people I don't know fairly well is almost beyond my ability to cope. When I do go, I either latch on to the person I know the best and follow him or her around like a lost puppy, or I sit, staring the other guests, unable to force myself to enter into the conversation, even if the topic is something I feel passionate about.
Two things make it easier for me to relax, participate and enjoy myself. First, the presence of a few of my closer friends makes a huge difference, but since so many of those people have moved away and others have been driven off by the unfortunate side affect of some neediness, it's really not a reliable option.
Second, booze. As with a lot of people, alcohol makes me less shy. Imagine that.
So the friends who have known me since before the anxiety struck, have probably never noticed any difference, since I don't feel shy around them. Additionally, anybody who has spent time with me that generally involved alcohol wouldn't have noticed anything, given the affect that booze has.
The only people who might have noticed are those who have seen me sober, in groups of people I don't know well. They may have seen me sit, perhaps in a corner, staring at the other guests, barely saying a word unless spoken to.
I realize, however, that there's probably a good chance that they didn't know why that was happening and probably thought I was bored or bothered or otherwise having a miserable time.
Very recently, as in the last month or so, I'm starting to feel like I'm coming out of this weird shell. Maybe.
It's happening in fits and starts. Three steps forward, two steps back. I'm making progress, but it's slow.
I've been able to have conversations with some of the people I cross paths with, regularly, without having to hide behind my iPod or a book, and without being so awkward and weird as to drive them off. Sometimes I can even manage to attend social functions with people other than my closest friends, and have a good time!
Now I hope that I can stop keeping everybody at arm's length all the time and actually make a few, real friends.
It's not easy. I'm sure I'll flake out on a few more events before the summer is over, especially since I've cut way back on my alcohol consumption. But I feel like I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and it makes me feel quite hopeful.
So that's my story. It probably sounds like a tale of woe, but it isn't, really. One good thing, in all of this, is that I've always had an strong independent streak. I don't get bored or lonely and I'm perfectly comfortable doing things on my own. I'd just rather find a better balance between “me time” and social time. People are important.
This, being my personal journal, is where I post rants, memes and stuff about me. I don't usually bother setting my posts to friends only, since I have a few friends who read this who are not LJ users, but every once in a while I do. I like comments, but I prefer to be able to identify the commenters, so if you're not logged in, please leave a name or something so I know who you are.
That said, here's a re-write of the post I tried to post at lunch yesterday, that disappeared into the ether.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The other day I set, "Joni feels like maybe, possibly she might be emerging from the post-anxiety issues shell. Being shy is a huge pain in the a$$. It would be so nice to be over it. Also, YAY KICKBALL!" as my status on Facebook. As often happens, when I mention being shy, this status elicited a bit of skepticism on the part of some friends and started a lengthy (for facebook comments) conversation. It got me to thinking.
Only a few people know about my anxiety issues and the affect that had on me. Most of my other friends have a hard time believing this shyness business, and understandably so. Also, I don't mean shy in exactly the same way it's usually meant, but I don't have any other word to describe what I do mean.
Back in my teens and 20s I was anything but shy. I was in choir and drama. I made friends pretty easily and some of them became very close friends. Sure, sometimes I found myself in intimidating situations, but that's not the same as being shy.
Fast forward to sometime in the mid aughts. It must have been 2005ish when it began, subtly at first... I started to feel nervous a lot. I didn't know why I was nervous, but I also didn't realize that anything was wrong. Slowly, it got worse.
Gradually, I began to find flying more and more frightening. Even though I'd never been afraid of flying before, I missed the clue bus and still didn't realize that there was something actually wrong with me. I just tried hard to convince my boss to allow me to travel less often. I had other reasons to want to travel less, anyway.
The worst part, by far, was when the anxiety started to get really bad at night. I've always been a light sleeper, but it got to the point where I barely slept at all. I lived alone in a house that happened to be a very creaky house. As it cooled off at night it would creak and groan and make all kinds of noises. These noises became terrifying to me. Even though I knew, rationally, that it was just my house cooling and settling, I would have to get up over and over again to check all the windows and the door, making sure they were locked and peering out to see if someone was outside, trying to get in.
See, looking back on my childhood, I now believe my Dad probably suffered from anxiety for most of the time that I knew him. He had a thing about keeping the doors and windows locked so that the “bogey man” wouldn't get us. He would say that in a joking way, but it was clear that he was serious. I think his fears stuck with me, and when I started to have my own anxiety problems, my mind dug up the same sort of fears to focus on. The brain is a funny thing like that.
It really didn't help at all that one night, during all of this, somebody actually did try to get into my house. I woke up to the sound of someone jiggling my front door handle. The weird thing about it was that, in that moment, I didn't actually get scared. I got up, turned on my outside lights and looked out various windows to see if I could see anyone outside. I called the police, but I knew there was little chance that anything would come of that, and went back to bed. I thought there was probably a good chance that it was just a drunk college kid, lost and trying to find home. That sort of thing wasn't exactly unheard of in that neighborhood, so it was a nice theory to hang on to.
The next day, however, the fear really set in. As I arrived home from work I noticed something I hadn't been aware of the night before. The screen of my bathroom window had been taken down and set aside. Whoever had been trying to get in hadn't just tried the door. He/She had also tried to get in the bathroom window. Somehow that made the drunk college student theory seem less likely and the whole situation started to feed into my anxiety. Before that I had known, deep down, that nobody was really trying to get in. Sometimes I could use that knowledge to talk myself to sleep. Suddenly, that wasn't an option anymore. I lost the one weapon I had to fight against my (previously) irrational fears.
Fortunately, it was fall and winter was coming, so there wasn't any need to keep my windows open at night, something I still have trouble with. By the following summer, I was able to move into the basement apartment of the house next door. This allowed me to stay cool all summer long, so I didn't need to open windows. I also felt a bit safer because I had more locked doors between me and the outside, as well as upstairs neighbors who would hopefully hear me if something were to happen. My anxiety didn't go away, but I was less terrified of somebody breaking in and hurting me.
On the other hand, I had noisy upstairs neighbors and a gas furnace that occasionally came down with leaks. So really, I just had a different set of fears to focus on. I still had a lot of trouble sleeping, and it had been making me sick.
I don't remember exactly when it was that my doctor clued in and started asking me questions about my anxiety, but eventually she recognized the problem and put me on a supplement to help control the anxiety and the panic attacks that had started to occur, while she figured out and helped me deal with the underlying cause.
But the truth is, the damage had already been done. I'd spent a year or two being increasingly afraid of things. I started to find it more and more difficult to step out of my comfort zones. I started to keep everyone at arm's length. I retreated more and more from anything social. I barely went out. The only parties or outings I attended were held by my upstairs neighbors or involved my closest of friends.
I still tried to do things that I felt I should be able to do. I became involved with a local political organization & volunteered to register voters, and helped out with other things as well. None of it was easy, but I've always had tricks for forcing myself to do things that were difficult.
Eventually, I changed jobs, which made things better in some ways and worse in others. I had stopped taking the stuff my doctor had given me, but ended up having to go back on it for a while.
As of today, I've been off it for 10 or 11 months and I've only had one panic attack and a couple of nervous days in that time. I've gotten a lot better at recognizing what sorts of things are likely to set me off, and avoiding them, and I know I can go back on the supplement if I need to.
The problem I still have is that I've become awfully shy. Going to parties or social functions where I will be amongst a large percentage of people I don't know fairly well is almost beyond my ability to cope. When I do go, I either latch on to the person I know the best and follow him or her around like a lost puppy, or I sit, staring the other guests, unable to force myself to enter into the conversation, even if the topic is something I feel passionate about.
Two things make it easier for me to relax, participate and enjoy myself. First, the presence of a few of my closer friends makes a huge difference, but since so many of those people have moved away and others have been driven off by the unfortunate side affect of some neediness, it's really not a reliable option.
Second, booze. As with a lot of people, alcohol makes me less shy. Imagine that.
So the friends who have known me since before the anxiety struck, have probably never noticed any difference, since I don't feel shy around them. Additionally, anybody who has spent time with me that generally involved alcohol wouldn't have noticed anything, given the affect that booze has.
The only people who might have noticed are those who have seen me sober, in groups of people I don't know well. They may have seen me sit, perhaps in a corner, staring at the other guests, barely saying a word unless spoken to.
I realize, however, that there's probably a good chance that they didn't know why that was happening and probably thought I was bored or bothered or otherwise having a miserable time.
Very recently, as in the last month or so, I'm starting to feel like I'm coming out of this weird shell. Maybe.
It's happening in fits and starts. Three steps forward, two steps back. I'm making progress, but it's slow.
I've been able to have conversations with some of the people I cross paths with, regularly, without having to hide behind my iPod or a book, and without being so awkward and weird as to drive them off. Sometimes I can even manage to attend social functions with people other than my closest friends, and have a good time!
Now I hope that I can stop keeping everybody at arm's length all the time and actually make a few, real friends.
It's not easy. I'm sure I'll flake out on a few more events before the summer is over, especially since I've cut way back on my alcohol consumption. But I feel like I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and it makes me feel quite hopeful.
So that's my story. It probably sounds like a tale of woe, but it isn't, really. One good thing, in all of this, is that I've always had an strong independent streak. I don't get bored or lonely and I'm perfectly comfortable doing things on my own. I'd just rather find a better balance between “me time” and social time. People are important.