Interview

Okay Jeff, we're going to start off with a few demographic questions.

Age?

28.

Income?

Between 30 & 40.

Religion?

Let's go with "other."

Are you Hispanic?

No.

Describe your ethnicity, please.

Cracker.

*chuckles* You mean, "white"?

Heh, yes.

*chuckles again* Okay, how did you find us?

Internet.

Any particular advertisement?

No, just Googled "free social anxiety treatment."

Okay, now for more pertinent questions...

The interview went pretty well, I guess. I have an appointment to see a doctor next Friday at noon.

Blech.

I stayed home today. I woke up at 7 AM, after 4 hours of sleep, to perform my best Mr Creosote impression.

Did a repeat performance at 9:30 AM.

It's a nasty stomach bug, but the worst is over. I stumbled over to the drug store around noon and got a bottle of Pepto. I'm on the BRAT diet (Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast), and so far, so good.

Tomorrow morning is the phone interview for the SADR Clinic.

My stomach feels a little tense; I may stay home tomorrow as well.

Sketch

So...here's a very rough sketch. I need to get a bit more reference, and play with the scale of the figure & bench (shrink) compared to the tree. Oh, better perspective would be good, too. The font is from my hand writing. Still have a bit to toy with.

Update

I've gotten in touch with the clinic.

First, there's a phone interview to get a rough idea of how bonkers I am. Then they'll put me on Paxil for 12 weeks. Then there's an evaluation. Depending on how the treatment goes, they'll start doing some cognitive-therapy-something-or-other for free.

I've been going to the gym daily. It's helped to keep my mood up in the mean time.

However, my fingers are still too fat...

(Right-click and save link as)

I keep forgetting this one.

Thanks to Mike Pullmann for reminding me.

A little better

I spent a couple of hours at the gym last night, blasting Led Zeppelin to clear out the cobwebs. It helped.

So, I've been in a funk lately...

...And now I'm going to tell you about it. Or at least, as much as I can without intruding on the privacy of others in this highly public forum. Some of you already know the details. If you don't know the details, please don't ask. I won't tell you about it.

A while back, I met someone. She's...well, awesome. Friendly, smart, funny, and a cutie. I didn't give it much thought at first because I didn't know her well enough.

Time passed and we hung out a bit. Got to know her better alone and in public. She proved herself to be a decent person. She treated me like I was a human being, like I wasn't just a bit of debris on the social playground.

I started to think, maybe I could open up to her.

As most of you know, opening up is extremely difficult for me. Decades of wrapping myself in solitude for just a hint of inner peace has crippled me socially. I can't read people very well. The external world is more confusing to me than an MC Escher drawing. I have to mentally retreat and become an observer, becoming lost and detached from my surroundings.

Conversations are dominated by others, to the point of boredom. I'm hardly interested in the topics. Or if I am, I don't know enough to say anything. Or if I do, it usually comes out garbled, so I don't say anything anyway. Further retreating.

This is part of Social Anxiety Disorder.

In these retreats, I do manage to pick up on small things. They don't occur to me until much later, after they've wormed about in my subconscious.

The more I thought about telling her, the more things didn't seem right. Something inside me said, "no, don't do it."

I still wanted to, but then life got in the way. Work, creative pursuits, illness. You sure as hell can't approach someone with a fever & snot dripping from your nose.

The Tuesday before Christmas it all clicked, with a more direct clue while I was at work. The first anxiety attack of the season kicked in. I ran to the bathroom before the tears came out. I breathed slowly, trying to calm my nerves, to slow my heartbeat. I felt, and continue to feel...

Irrelevant.

Lynne came to my aid Friday afternoon. My office was virtually empty, as almost everyone had left to be with their loved ones. We talked about everything, and she held me for a while.

On Saturday I confessed, and had my suspicions confirmed. She's already seeing someone else, someone I know and respect, for long enough to make how I felt about her irrelevant.

She was very kind about it, reinforcing why I think so highly of her. She asked if our friendship would remain intact.

As someone who's heard the "just friends" speech in every variation the English language has to offer, I said "yes." Why would this time be different?

We spoke for a few more minutes as blood rushed into my face, partially out of embarrassment, partially out of anger.

I was never angry at her, nor at him.

Just myself.

I'm angry because I barely understand what's going on inside this shell, let alone what's outside. I'm angry because everything I had to do to survive has made me more lonely than ever. I'm angry because I don't know how to connect with people. I'm angry that I didn't act on my thoughts sooner, even if she would have said no.

Christmas morning, after getting only five hours of sleep, I woke up with my heart pounding out of my chest. The dream I was going through was a confrontation of this situation.

I was at a gathering in my maternal grandparents' old house. No family members were present. The couple, a few friends, and other people I've never seen before were all there having a party.

I was very disoriented. That house represents abuse spanning two generations. It was built by a sick man who was never punished. I've only been in it once since the incident with my sister over ten years ago, after he died.

I was sitting on the floor, looking up at everyone. The gentleman of the couple gave me a note. It was written by at least three different people; each sentence by a new hand. I couldn't read it. The blue ink washed away before I could. He then told me something, but his voice was distorted. I knew it was a dream at this point, and my body took over, inducing the second attack of the season.

I sat up in bed, struggling to breathe.

I got up and eventually went to Lynne's for her little X-Mas party. I told her what happened. We sat on her bed and held each other for a while, which was highly therapeutic. I removed my glasses, closed my eyes, and nuzzled into her neck. Taking in her light scent of lavender baby powder, I tried to forget about everything.

Lynne asked, "Why do you feel so lonely?"

I pulled her closer, unable to verbalize an answer.

I walked home in the pouring rain that night. I thought, how perfectly fitting.

I had taken Tuesday off already, and just tried to cope. I spent the rest of the week at work, zombified. It was a slow three days. I didn't have much to distract me.

Since then, things have become more difficult. He doesn't seem to know that I know. And I know far too much than I'm comfortable with. Hell, I know what they had for dinner on New Years' Eve.

(No, I'm not stalking or spying. I'm fucked up, yes. Psychotic, no. Information was freely given.)

I suppose jealousy has reared it's ugly head, but it's not so much jealousy of him being with her (a little, yes), it's of the connection they have. And that jealousy is minuscule compared to the loneliness I feel around the holidays. Add that to the deluge of memories I'm recovering for my book...well, I've never felt so bad in my life.

I've looked into getting therapy. I simply can't afford it. My employer recently offered us insurance, but the monthly co-pay is far too expensive. Columbia University has a Social Anxiety Research Clinic. They have a self-assessment quiz, called the Liebowitz Social Anxiety Scale. I scored 93.

Score 90 or higher SAD extremely probable
Scores in this range often are accompanied by great distress and difficulty in social functioning, and are also commonly seen in persons entering treatment for the generalized type of SAD.

I've sent the clinic an email outlining my problems. If I qualify (if I'm fucked up enough), I can get free, but experimental treatment. I hope to hear from them this week.

It's going to be a while before I can see her again, especially if they're out together. I don't know if I'd be able to stay calm. I have enough problems seeing an anonymous couple snogging away on the train.

I spent New Years' Eve alone, posting on CBR. With my current state of mind, I am probably the worst person to hang out with for the foreseeable future. Napoleon saying, "hey, let's invade Russia during the winter" is a better idea than "I wonder what Jeff's up to today." It's not like my phone rings more than twice a month anyway.

I want to make this, above all else, clear: I bear no ill will, no grudge to this couple. She has far more in common with him than she does with me. They are both good, honorable people, who deserve the best. I honestly hope it works out for them. In no way do I blame either of them for what I'm going through. It's nobody's fault but my own.

If that awesome woman is reading this, know that we will be okay. I just need a bit more time than I thought. Please don't give up on me.

Fuck You, Hallmark!

It's not even New Years and the goddamn Valentines' Day decorations are out.

I hate feeling bitter, I honestly do. It just gnaws on me like a dog gnaws on a rawhide bone. I'm not bitter at anyone - I'm really not. I just hate how the holidays remind me of how fucking broken I am.

I've had two anxiety attacks in the past week. The three aisles of blood red mementos nearly gave me my third.

All I wanted were light bulbs.

Fuck you, Hallmark. Fuck you, Russell Stover.

Quoted (possibly for Truthiness).

I forgot to mention this a month ago when it happened.

http://comicsworthreading.com/2006/11/30/wizard-staff-shakeup/

Click on the CBR Poster link.

Jeff am s-m-r-t.

.........

Fuck.

Ever figure something out, and find out it's way too late to act?