Fear and Loathing in Newton, Kansas

It has been a really, really strange past few days.

Backstory: bills have been paid, and I will survive (fairly) comfortably, at least in a financial sense, I suppose, until I get paid again next Friday. Daisy was on vacation all around the nation (and Canada!) until Thursday night. I gave my final exam on Tuesday night, calculated all of the grades yesterday, and posted/turned them in to the office on campus today.

Ahem. So, that being said to set the stage, let's tell the story of what's been going on, shall we?


The short version:
Weeks ago, Daisy asked me if I wanted to come visit her and her family in her (big) city once she got back from vacation. I wrote about this here on the blog, and how I declined because I was uncomfortable with the notion of meeting her entire family without any context behind it, when I'd have to be introduced as "a friend" and nothing more, etc., how meeting someone's family is a huge deal to me and isn't something I do willy-nilly or off-the-cuff. It's really, really important to me, and the entire situation sounded supremely awkward for me, so I told her no -- not to offend her or her parents/family or anything like that, because they really like me, but because I just wouldn't be comfortable. Tonight, she asked me again, and I relented and decided I would go, only to have a panic attack less than an hour later about it, after which I told her that I just couldn't do it, no matter how much I knew she wanted me to. Knowing I was about to have another panic attack if I continued the conversation (because I knew it upset her), I hung up the phone and forced myself to just go to bed. When I got up, I had a message from Daisy: "Stop stressing. I wanted you to come because you'd have fun and yes, you would. But, getting worked up defeats the purpose."


The long version:
I haven't had a panic attack in about three years. I thought I was done with them, that I'd grown out of them or something like that. So when I had one tonight, and then almost had a second, I had to force myself to shut down. I had to run away, I had to get away from the situation, I had to. I know it disappointed her and probably greatly upset her for me to change my mind and tell her I couldn't do it, and it will probably disappoint Daisy's mother as well, but...I just can't. 

Let me explain.

I've mentioned here before that I am not a social person. There are many reasons I try not to leave the house unless I have to, and that even extends to groups of friends that I'm really comfortable with -- which is, most of the time, why I decline most invitations to go out and have fun or do anything with the people in the department (unless I otherwise can't afford to do so, which has been the prevailing reason as of late). I'm very awkward, I'm very anxious, I get on-edge, and when those feelings strike me I cannot shake them without getting away from the situation that's causing them. In this situation, were I to go, there would be no "escape route" for me to be able to get away. This may sound strange, but it is key to understanding my apprehensions.

The plan was that Daisy wanted to come down here tomorrow night (read: tonight, really, as it's Saturday now) after work, sleep here, and then she would take me back up to her family home for a few days on Sunday morning, returning down here on Tuesday morning. Daisy knows my car won't make it, knows I don't have gas money, for a trip like that anyway, and wanted to get me out of the house and around some fun people for the weekend, etc. This was very nice of her, actually -- it shows how much she cares about me as a friend, and how open and welcoming her family is to me, what with their willingness to feed and house me for three days. That means a lot to me, it really does. I can't and won't pretend that it doesn't. And if it were just Daisy and her parents? Yes, I'd still be apprehensive to a certain extent, but I'd quickly get over it.

It is not, however, just Daisy and her parents who will be there for the weekend. They're having some big family gathering of some sort where her sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins and the like are all coming in. A large number of people. People that I don't know. People that I would be introduced to, one-by-one, people who I'm sure are wonderfully nice, but people that I would have to explain to who I am and why I'm there, and people that I would be incredibly nervous and anxious around. I began thinking about that. I began thinking about the situation. I got really panicky, my heart started racing, and I had a full-blown panic attack, shaking and gasping for breath. So many things could go wrong, so many problems could arise, and I would have no way to escape the situation (as I wouldn't have my car with me). I had to change my mind, and when she called back on Skype a few minutes later I told her that I just couldn't do it. I couldn't put myself in that situation because I was just not that type of social person. I didn't want to upset her, I didn't want to disappoint her, but I just couldn't personally do it.

I could tell she was upset and disappointed, and rightfully so, when I told her I couldn't come, that I wouldn't come. She tried to hide it, but I know Daisy too well. I saw the look on her face, I saw it in her eyes. I couldn't look at the screen, and I was having a really hard time keeping my composure. I was about to have another panic attack, and I could feel it building. I quickly told her that I was sorry and that I had to go, that I had to go lay down, and hung up. And that's what I did. I immediately went downstairs and forced myself to go to bed. I wasn't even particularly tired, even though I'd had a long day (more on that later). I think the panic had worn me out, though, and I slept eventually. I slept until 2:30 in the morning.

I felt horrible. I still feel horrible. I hate disappointing or upsetting Daisy, hate disappointing her mother or her family or anyone else who was expecting and wanting to meet me. But I just...I can't do it. I can't. Part of it is because I've been in situations like this before, and I know how they always turn out for me -- badly. I know how I react in them: I collapse inward on myself like a dying star. I knew if I were in a social situation with that many people that I didn't know, that many people who would be looking at me, wondering who I was, asking me questions, trying to fit in...I now know that I would have another panic attack right there in the midst of them, in the yard or the house or wherever we were all congregated. It's not the people, it's the situation. I kept thinking about everything else that could've gone wrong -- if something happened to Daisy's car or I somehow otherwise got stranded there 200 miles from my home, I have $7 in my wallet, $33 in my bank account, and two basically maxed-out credit cards. I'd have no recourse, no way to get home. If I somehow offended or otherwise irritated her family members (or Daisy herself) I would still be stuck there until Tuesday. If I collapsed on myself like a dying star, as mentioned before, without an escape route I would just freak out.

As I said, it's not Daisy, it's not her family, it's not the people, it's the situation.

I am reminded -- and I hate to make the comparison here, but bear with me -- of all of the trips I made with my longtime ex to visit her family's home in Missouri over many years. I didn't have a car at the time, and we always took hers. She would want to stay for a week at a time, despite the fact that we would always have to leave the cats here at the house and I was constantly worried about whether they'd be too hot/cold (depending on the season) or if they'd have enough food and water. She'd always try to get an extra day or two out of the trip, regardless of how I felt about that, and every time I went there with her (especially the final two or three visits), something inevitably went wrong between me and one or more members of her family, and I told her that I wanted to go home, that I did not want to be around those people anymore, that I needed to get out of that situation because of what it did to me and my psyche. She ignored me, always chose her family over me, got pissed off at me, and I ended up holing myself up in the spare room or somewhere away from everyone else for the rest of the trip until she was ready to go. I could never escape, I could never leave and strike out on my own to go home, because I didn't have a car of my own -- but believe me, there were many times where, if I had a vehicle, I would've left. After a while I just stopped going with her on those trips. I told her I wasn't going to be trapped there anymore, that I wasn't going to be stuck in a situation I hated with people who couldn't care less whether or not I was there anyhow, and most of the time (especially near the end) I'm pretty sure they didn't exactly want me there. And I knew those people well.

It's not an accurate comparison, really. It's not. Daisy is nothing like my ex, and I'm quite sure her family is nothing like my ex's family was. But even in the best of situations I will still sometimes feel trapped, will still feel like I have no way out, and my panic will keep rising until it explodes. All of it is really difficult to explain to someone who has no experience with these sorts of anxiety issues or doesn't understand the concept of someone who does not mesh well with people for one reason or another. People will think it's simple standoffishness or snobbery when it's anything but. Believe me, I wish I could function normally and be the life of the party, the guy who's at the center of attention, but I can't. I'll never be able to do that.

Hell, in order for me to be able to tolerate the "party" my parents threw for me over Spring Break when I visited home, I had to drink about five beers first. Had to. I would've just holed up in my room otherwise, and those people were my close friends and family members. I was the "guest of honor," even. I just do not do well in gatherings or social situations. I just don't. It's like a low-level trauma for me. And I don't know why. I was never like this in high school or college, and was never really like this my first year or so of grad school except on very rare occasions. I don't know what it is. I don't know if there's something wrong with me or not, but over the past year or so, roughly, I've just developed a supreme abhorrence for social situations. It's like a switch flipped in my head, and I will now avoid them at all costs because of my anxiety and nervousness, my apprehensions. Friends, family, it doesn't matter. I can't handle it, I can't deal with it on some level that I can't even fully explain to myself, let alone anyone else. In case you couldn't tell, it is very difficult for me to write about here. It's not difficult in the baring-my-soul sense, because I do that here on a regular basis -- it's difficult in the this-doesn't-even-make-sense-to-me sense. And it's really just taken hold in this past year. Before that I was fine, I was normal. No, I didn't necessarily like most social situations (mainly because I found them to be boring or a waste of time) but they didn't cripple me like they do now.

If I can explain even a small part of it, it's probably because I'm not in any sort of social situation anymore, except rarely or for school reasons. I'm fine around my friends in the office, yes, because I'm there and I have to be there, and because I'm comfortable and know I can leave at any time. I'm fine in front of a classroom full of students, because I know they have to be there, and I am in control of the room, the commanding presence there. But I think part of it is that I don't have face-to-face interaction with anyone on a daily basis anymore. When my longtime ex left me and moved out, daily face-to-face interaction with anyone but me and the cats just stopped, and I began to withdraw like a turtle into its shell. It went away a little when Lady and I got together, but once she left me and we broke up as well, it came back full force and has been slowly building more and more since then. I think if there's any part of it I can explain, it's because I am, overall in life, fairly unhappy most of the time. I don't necessarily believe that things are going to get better for me (as I mentioned before, I am not a pessimist but a realist) and over the past few months I have become increasingly bitter and jaded.

I was telling Daisy about this last night. Daisy, obviously, is the best thing that's happened to me all summer. She is wonderful, she is endlessly sweet and loving and caring, and even though we are just friends, I am closer with her than probably anyone at this point (save for, say, my parents and people like Zedral). I have been watching my friends and family post things on Facebook, and I have been very slowly becoming increasingly bitter and jealous because, apparently, these people don't have problems, they're enjoying themselves and their summers, they're traveling and having fun and have money, etc.

I realize the irony in saying this when Daisy and her family offered me a weekend of fun and travel, yes, I do. That's not the point I'm trying to make.

That's part of the reason I've wanted to deactivate or delete my Facebook. I can't stand seeing everyone else have fun, enjoying their lives and being happy, when I don't and can't enjoy my own. Yes, I realize I have it so much better than like 80% of the people on the planet. I don't take for granted what I have, never want to, and never have. I know I've been very lucky just to be able to make it through this past month, even if I've had to make a lot of sacrifices and skip a few meals here and there just to be able to survive. I am indeed lucky, I am indeed grateful. But then I'll see status updates from friends who say things like "Look, I just bought a new car!" or "Which one of these $2k+ computers should I buy?" Or, if not that, things like "Look at me, I'm traveling the country because I don't have a job and don't need one because I have mommy and daddy's money!"

No, Daisy, that last one does not include you, of course.

I've mentioned before many times that I'm not depressed, and I'm not. I'm just becoming increasingly bitter, increasingly jaded. And really, really jealous of most people I know or see. There's a correlation here: as my life gets worse, everyone else's lives always seem that much better. Think of scales tipping one way, with me at the bottom end. So much bitterness, so much fear and anxiety. Each emotion feeds into the next, which feeds into the next and the next.

I've written a few posts here over the course of the past few days that I've gone back into and scrapped, deleted the drafts of, because I didn't want people to think that I was going to put a gun in my mouth or something like that (believe me, I'm not going to) but the central theme to most of them was that I desperately, desperately need something good to happen to me, and soon, to help snap me out of things, to let me see that yes, things may get better, if only a little bit. To give me a little hope. Somewhere along the way, I lost all hope for the future. It went away around the time when Lady and I broke up, I think, and then left completely when I started having all of my financial problems. It's still not come back. It probably won't unless something great happens, something remarkable happens, to bring it back. And as important as Daisy is to me, as great as she is and as wonderful as it is to have her in my life -- not to mention as sweet as her offer to spend the weekend with her and her family was and is, until I begin feeling like myself again and can actually function in a social setting with new people, lots of people, without collapsing in on myself and my neuroses, I just can't do it.

I can't tell you how much it bothers me that I can't do it, or how much I wish I could.

I hope that explains things somewhat. If that's possible.

In other news, I am now completely done teaching for the summer. All of my students' grades have been calculated and posted, and yesterday I dropped off all of their final exam booklets in the main office on campus. I am relatively responsibility-free until August 16th or so, which should be my "half day" of orientation for the fall semester, according to the department office yesterday. Most of the time between now and then I will probably be slipping into even more of a self-imposed exile, in order to get all of the important stuff done before the semester starts (like, for example, finishing up my thesis draft) and taking care of all of the important stuff around the house that I need to get done once my student loans come in. I'll also be able to get some sleep too, sleep that will come without the nagging thought that there are papers I should be grading or lesson plans I should be constructing. For example, right now it's 6:30 in the morning. It's supposed to be 106 this afternoon. I'm going to sleep through as much of that heat as possible, then get up and do the dishes and some light cooking/cleaning, probably. It's not glamorous or happy most of the time, but it's my life. And I keep reminding myself that until Friday, when I get paid again (for the last check of my summer salary) I just have to survive. I just have to get up every day, go about my tasks, and go back to bed at some point, six more times, until I can actually have enough money to be able to do something again to take my mind off of everything else.