Have you tried talking after that? It's even worse.
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I've mentioned in passing how I can get very tired of people. Not fed up with somebody, or upset or anything like that, just exhausted by the very idea of socialising. Don't get me wrong; I love people. Especially the ones I have in my life right now. But I can get tired. Very easily.
In every venue I had to visit regularly- halls, clubs, other people's houses- I have a sanctuary that I've found, and will visit regularly. Cupboards, spare rooms, bathroom stalls, just somewhere to be alone. I remember being in an unfamiliar club one night, and it was just so busy. I had lost everyone I knew trying to find some refuge, and ended up trying to leave through the fire escape- before getting physically hauled back in by bouncers. I still don't know why bouncers would try and keep "unruly" customers inside. I thought that was the opposite of what they did.
In every venue I had to visit regularly- halls, clubs, other people's houses- I have a sanctuary that I've found, and will visit regularly. Cupboards, spare rooms, bathroom stalls, just somewhere to be alone. I remember being in an unfamiliar club one night, and it was just so busy. I had lost everyone I knew trying to find some refuge, and ended up trying to leave through the fire escape- before getting physically hauled back in by bouncers. I still don't know why bouncers would try and keep "unruly" customers inside. I thought that was the opposite of what they did.
The worst I've felt it was maybe a couple of months ago. I'm not entirely sure why it happened, but it did. I just couldn't bear the thought of seeing anybody. And to complicate matters, the more I stayed in my hidey-hole, the harder it was to get out, as if each passing moment in my room was making myself more of a wretch than I was before, something I couldn't show anybody. I stopped sleeping right. I ate my meals in private, when people were long asleep. Hallmates assumed I was absent. I felt like I was festering.
I remember accidentally running into a friend one night, as I had to pick something up from another kitchen- he had a similar aversion to sleep- and I couldn't speak. Couldn't. I was struck like frightened prey, and the only sound my throat would make were scratched, wounded noises. Like a whispered howl. And so, with eyes affixed to the floor, I hastily scurried away.
I have no illusions how pathetic it was. I would hear people, friends, passing my door, and I would freeze in panic. Cold sweats. If somebody had knocked or wanted something, I really wouldn't know what to do.
I was blindsided by the prospect of having to communicate with another human being- people I knew and admired.
I vomited twice the day I decided I would leave my room. Which was fine by me, it gave me an excuse put off my task for the day. I think I went through the entire morning routine of teeth-face-shower-hair-clothes about three times over six hours.
But it went fine.
They didn't ask too many questions, they smiled, we talked. It went fine.
I'm still frightened of when it will strike again. Or of how much I've alienated those close to me with my isolation. Of how ungrateful, inconsiderate I must appear to my friends. I'm not. I love them, I need them. It's difficult to tell if this new unease I feel is just me.
I remember accidentally running into a friend one night, as I had to pick something up from another kitchen- he had a similar aversion to sleep- and I couldn't speak. Couldn't. I was struck like frightened prey, and the only sound my throat would make were scratched, wounded noises. Like a whispered howl. And so, with eyes affixed to the floor, I hastily scurried away.
I have no illusions how pathetic it was. I would hear people, friends, passing my door, and I would freeze in panic. Cold sweats. If somebody had knocked or wanted something, I really wouldn't know what to do.
I was blindsided by the prospect of having to communicate with another human being- people I knew and admired.
I vomited twice the day I decided I would leave my room. Which was fine by me, it gave me an excuse put off my task for the day. I think I went through the entire morning routine of teeth-face-shower-hair-clothes about three times over six hours.
But it went fine.
They didn't ask too many questions, they smiled, we talked. It went fine.
I'm still frightened of when it will strike again. Or of how much I've alienated those close to me with my isolation. Of how ungrateful, inconsiderate I must appear to my friends. I'm not. I love them, I need them. It's difficult to tell if this new unease I feel is just me.
3 comments:
Not introversion, agoraphobia. (Meant in the nicest possible way.)
Oh, yes, I suppose what I'm specifically describing is agoraphobia, but I feel that it along with far less extreme episodes do stem from the fatigue bought on by my introverted nature (is it gauche to describe one's nature?). Thanks though :)
Literally just read this, I don't get that quite as severely, or at least I haven't yet, but I honestly thought I was the only one who felt like this at times. My friends don't understand why I won't hang out with them all the time, or crash at their place, my family don't understand why I'm so reluctant to participate in their social family events, my previous partners couldn't comprehend why I'd want to spend time, even a day, away from them, in all honesty I'd happily spend a lifetime being physically apart from friends and family as long as I could maintain virtual communication, and maybe the occasional bout of physical intimacy that comes with being in a loving relationship. The idea of being near people, especially lots of people in one go, makes me very uncomfortable.
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