So, got all brave this weekend, and went to a party full of people I didn't know. Please understand, when I say brave, I mean, this took every ounce of courage I had. I lied furiously about being excited. I was terrified (especially given some of the extenuating circumstances going on), but if I never push my limits, I never grow. As a socially phobic introvert, you've got to understand that I'd generally rather perform my own anesthesia-free appendectomy than do something like that. It's an act of love and extreme trust in my friends when I do. Excursions where I know people and am going to new places can work, provided I have a momma duck. I will follow and cling to that person pretty much the whole time. Literally, some form of physical touch is nearly constantly required. It's how I stay grounded. Leave me alone for more than about 10 minutes, and it's a pretty quick downhill slide to badness. No place to escape to where I feel safe breaking down enough to let the stress go? Extra bad.
Yes, I "face" it generally really well. People have no idea how hard it is for me to survive group dynamics. I haven't put myself in this situation in a Very Long Time, and I was reminded of why this weekend. I'm still absolutely livid that I let myself get to that point where I had to dig my nails in my arm to keep from some gloriously hysterical weeping. Could I handle this situation better next time? Very probably. It's not all new and overwhelming. Once I get past the first time or two, I can usually manage.
I did great at the party while I was drunk and hopped up on Xanax, but the second I got too sober, and the Xanax was the only thing left in my system, I crashed. I even had fun, but for me, the absolute humiliation that comes with that kind of loss of control is...personally unforgivable and overshadows everything else. Most people there didn't notice, I think. Honestly, if they did, well, fuck that. The one person who did notice is the last person I wanted that to happen in front of, and that made it so much worse.
I don't judge other people for being upset/offended/worried or whatever about my attacks. But I judge me for being weak in front of them. My attacks aren't me any more. They're so, so rare. But I still hate them as much, if not more than I ever did. They intrude. They splash their hateful reminders about how shattered I used to be all over me. High on the list of things I never want to be is that utterly, helplessly crazy. It's funny, people will tell me that it's not my fault...but since medication never worked, and training my emotions did... I just want to be normal. That's really all.
My therapist tells me we do what we have to do to survive. I know for Borderlines, untreated anyway, it's all survival, all the time. I sometimes sift back through my memories to try to figure out who the hell started this, and why I ended up so horribly broken, but there's nothing that comes to mind, given how old I was when I started being Borderline.
I'm not sure this really had a point, other than for me to remember this next time I decide to go out. I need to be much, much more clear about what I need when I do things like this, and have a better backup plan.
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