everyone in the grocery store is my enemy
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Living with avoidant behaviours means that for you to see me and be able to judge me, good or bad, inherently it means I am trying. Maybe not by yours, but by my standards I am succeeding too.
I don't think people understand how earth shatteringly terrifying it is to look for new jobs or meet new people with a panic disorder or social phobia. It puts me in a mindset where I have to actively remind myself that ending my life to escape the perceived danger is counterproductive, I am that out of my mind with panic. I know it doesn't make sense but knowing that doesn't stop the visceral fear from being so real. I wish people knew I don't want to be this way and I am actively fighting against it at all times even when it looks to others like I'm hiding away. The fact that I am still here, the fact that I answer messages sometimes and visit my family, the fact that I apply for jobs and leave the house to run errands at all is testament to how hard I'm trying.
If I stopped trying and gave in to my default state I would be shrivelled and pasty, dehydrated and sick from being too numb to feed myself, curled half-conscious and unshowered in grimy bed sheets, covered in nervous-picking sores, popping pills or drinking myself into slumber. I would not speak to a soul, not even immediate family. I wouldn't post at all. You would not know I exist.
For you to see me and be able to judge me, inherently means I am trying. Because I'm here and I'm not just awake. I'm the scariest thing I can be - perceivable.
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I feel like I was just thrown into life with absolutely no skills, no survivalism, very little functioning, little will to live and then expected to live a full functional life and be productive and healthy.
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I am so so tired of having the compassion for everyone else that they don't have for me
You're having a bad day? Let me pause my whole life so I can help you with that. Let me give you that book that is so so special to me knowing I won't be getting it back. Let me play along with your cruel jokes, tend to your wounds and carry you across the finish line
I'm having a bad day and I must apologize for feeling feelings in your direction I guess I should have tried harder but I'll see you next time you need something
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i enjoy going outside, ironically expressed by an agoraphobic. but it's the way it makes me feel grounded, connected to reality, rather than removed from everything. outside is where i should be, not in here... i enjoy seeing people and how human they are. it's the way people trip on the cracked sidewalk, with no one correcting them as their friends ask whether they're all right. as they tell their friends to look for a table while waiting in line. a mother holds her child's hand so that they do not get lost. students went home together. couples explore antique shops. people snap images to preserve memories. all of this can be me, experienced by me but all of me is trapped inside this toilet cubicle. waiting for the worst to happen and then it happens — i vomit, and vomit, and vomit. what am i? what if i am incapable of having human experiences?
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Agoraphobia
by Linda Pastan
"Yesterday the bird of night did sit,
Even at noon-day, upon the marketplace,
Hooting and shrieking."
—William Shakespeare
1.
Imagine waking
to a scene of snow so new
not even memories
of other snow
can mar its silken
surface. What other innocence
is quite like this,
and who can blame me
for refusing
to violate such whiteness
with the booted cruelty
of tracks?
2.
Though I cannot leave this house,
I have memorized the view
from every window—
23 framed landscapes, containing
each nuance of weather and light.
And I know the measure
of every room, not as a prisoner
pacing a cell
but as the embryo knows
the walls of the womb, free
to swim as its body tells it, to nudge
the softly fleshed walls,
dreading only the moment
of contraction when it will be forced
into the gaudy world.
3.
Sometimes I travel as far
as the last stone
of the path, but
every step,
as in the children's story,
pricks that tender place
on the bottom of the foot,
and like an ebbing tide with all
the obsession of the moon behind it,
I am dragged back.
4.
I have noticed in windy fall
how leaves are torn from the trees,
each leaf waving goodbye to the oak
or the poplar that housed it;
how the moon, pinned
to the very center of the window,
is like a moth wanting only to break in.
What I mean is this house
follows all the laws of lintel and ridgepole,
obeys the commandments of broom
and of needle, custom and grace.
It is not fear that holds me here but passion
and the uncrossable moat of moonlight
outside the bolted doors.
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