This is a concept with which I struggle. No matter how many skills I have or how mentally prepared I think I am, I'm never ready. Never.
I'm not sure an an anxious person ever is, really. We spend too much time on "what if" and "maybe" to be fully prepared. We know the possibilities, but after all the cogitation on what we would do in any of those situations, and our already racing minds, any assuredness we may have had disappears. And we always come up with some other outlandish potential outcome just before we're about to do whatever it is, so we don't have adequate time to evaluate it. Not that it matters, since things rarely play out in real life as they do in our heads, despite how imaginative we think we are.
I've been debating the readiness issue (with myself, of course) over the past couple weeks. Am I ready to try and drive? Am I ready to go back to work? Am I ready to pick a grad school? Am I ready for a relationship? Am I emotionally ready to handle all negative things without falling apart? Am I ready for anything - anything at all - or am I going to end up stagnant because I can't figure out a way to prepare myself to take the next step in my life?
I know I'm fragile right now. So it makes some degree of sense to be questioning all this at the moment. I'm ready for change consciously, but I'm also quite aware that this is not the time to change anything. Pushing me outside my comfort zone now would inevitably lead to disaster. But it even feels like thinking about changing, readying myself for change, is too overwhelming. I know I have to eventually, and this would seem like an appropriate time. But that's entirely too much stress.
Maybe this is something that confounds me because I don't know what I'm getting ready for. I haven't the slightest idea what I want to do with my life, nor do I really know what it is that's best for me at this juncture. I know what people tell me is best for me, but I'm also aware that they're...most likely wrong. Very few people really understand me, so their "advice" is rather pointless. There are a lot of things I need to decide for myself. Someday. But I'm not prepared.
I can say with certainty, however, that I've always been ready for someone or something to come along and change my perspective - for the better. Lots of things happen that make me even more frustrated, more angry with whatever supreme force controls the universe. I would be beyond ready for something to temper the cynicism, take away the indecision, show me the right path. I know I shouldn't be relying on anyone but myself to change how I look at things, but if I could have done that on my own, wouldn't I have done it already?
Maybe I'm not ready because I'm waiting for an epiphany. Maybe I'm not ready because nothing has spoken to me just yet. But I know, without question, that I'm ready to listen.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Day 22: Time.
It's been a few days. A somewhat busy few days.
Monday was my appointment with the psychiatrist. It went well. He said it sounds like I'm on the right path, and to increase my Zoloft and continue with therapy. I told him about the agoraphobia (which is slowly getting better), and he granted me another month off from work to recover, and we would re-assess everything at my next appointment on August 18, or sooner if I felt it necessary. I got word this morning from the insurance company that my disability claim was approved through August 21. It's good news, but the guilt of not being at work still lingers, and not beating myself up over it is very difficult.
Tuesday was my first hypnotherapy session. I didn't relax as much as I wanted to, and I definitely wasn't in a trance-type state. But my therapist says it generally takes three sessions to get there if it's something you haven't done before, so that made me feel better. Her schedule is weird for the next week, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to get there next. She said if I needed to see her, we could work something out. We'll see.
Today was the first time in five days that I didn't go out. Monday after my appointment, my mother and I went grocery shopping. We were there for quite a while, and I actually did pretty well. I was anxious before we left the house that morning, but it wore off, and I didn't feel like I'd lost my resolve until about three hours in. Thankfully we were already on the way home by then. Tuesday was therapy. Wednesday I had my first meal at a restaurant in almost two months, which was something that had made me nervous to even think about for a long time. And last night, I did some more shopping. Of course, I didn't do any of this alone. I may have to face that tomorrow when I go to a social event, potentially on my own. But that all depends on how I feel right before it's time to go.
I've been thinking about time lately. In the past year or so, I've become keenly aware of my age. My body is beginning to fail me (a subject for a different entry). I'm watching my friends get married, have kids, turn 30...or 40. I've realized people born in 1995 are driving now. And the real kicker is that I'll sometimes make what's meant to be a throwaway comment, then pause and reflect and realize it's something my mother would say. I've had to face it: I'm old. Maybe not chronologically, but I feel like the world has changed a great deal in the 28 years I've been on it. Technology has advanced more quickly than ever before, and we've sort of all...grown up faster. More responsibility, more stress, more drama. So here's your wake-up call, Millenials: You're aging. Start stocking up on hair dye, wrinkle cream, and Viagra. You're gonna need it.
I'd feel better about getting older if I didn't feel like I'd wasted so much time. And please - don't tell me I'm not. I'm doing it right now. I could think of a dozen more productive things I could be doing right now. I've perfected the art of procrastination over the course of my life. I am excellent at wasting time. I'm even more excellent at feeling guilty about it, but then not changing the behavior.
It's been more of an issue to me since I've been sitting around at home. I mean, I've always had issues with thinking I'm so far behind my peers - that I haven't accomplished enough, and that I don't even have the direction or motivation to accomplish anything. But after spending six weeks stuck in the house, more or less, I've realized just how long six weeks is. I've realized what could be done in six weeks, and how little I'm actually doing. I've lived through approximately 244 six-week periods. How many of those have I spent just like this? I'm not sure I want to know.
I don't want to go into a bunch of cliches here, about making every moment matter or...something. Mostly because I think every moment already does matter, and that doesn't mean it needs to be full of dramatic searches for meaning or what have you. We often learn the most about ourselves when we're not actively trying to do so. But eventually we all realize there's something we're not doing. We're not working the right job, we're not in the right relationship, whatever it happens to be. And we realize, when it comes to changing those things, time is against us. Time is against all of us. There are no exceptions. It's up to us to change how we react to that inevitability.
I'm starting small. I want to not waste the next month. I want to be able to say I didn't just recover - I improved. I want to use time to my advantage for once instead of feeling like its victim. And I hope that can set the tone for this entire process.
Monday was my appointment with the psychiatrist. It went well. He said it sounds like I'm on the right path, and to increase my Zoloft and continue with therapy. I told him about the agoraphobia (which is slowly getting better), and he granted me another month off from work to recover, and we would re-assess everything at my next appointment on August 18, or sooner if I felt it necessary. I got word this morning from the insurance company that my disability claim was approved through August 21. It's good news, but the guilt of not being at work still lingers, and not beating myself up over it is very difficult.
Tuesday was my first hypnotherapy session. I didn't relax as much as I wanted to, and I definitely wasn't in a trance-type state. But my therapist says it generally takes three sessions to get there if it's something you haven't done before, so that made me feel better. Her schedule is weird for the next week, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to get there next. She said if I needed to see her, we could work something out. We'll see.
Today was the first time in five days that I didn't go out. Monday after my appointment, my mother and I went grocery shopping. We were there for quite a while, and I actually did pretty well. I was anxious before we left the house that morning, but it wore off, and I didn't feel like I'd lost my resolve until about three hours in. Thankfully we were already on the way home by then. Tuesday was therapy. Wednesday I had my first meal at a restaurant in almost two months, which was something that had made me nervous to even think about for a long time. And last night, I did some more shopping. Of course, I didn't do any of this alone. I may have to face that tomorrow when I go to a social event, potentially on my own. But that all depends on how I feel right before it's time to go.
I've been thinking about time lately. In the past year or so, I've become keenly aware of my age. My body is beginning to fail me (a subject for a different entry). I'm watching my friends get married, have kids, turn 30...or 40. I've realized people born in 1995 are driving now. And the real kicker is that I'll sometimes make what's meant to be a throwaway comment, then pause and reflect and realize it's something my mother would say. I've had to face it: I'm old. Maybe not chronologically, but I feel like the world has changed a great deal in the 28 years I've been on it. Technology has advanced more quickly than ever before, and we've sort of all...grown up faster. More responsibility, more stress, more drama. So here's your wake-up call, Millenials: You're aging. Start stocking up on hair dye, wrinkle cream, and Viagra. You're gonna need it.
I'd feel better about getting older if I didn't feel like I'd wasted so much time. And please - don't tell me I'm not. I'm doing it right now. I could think of a dozen more productive things I could be doing right now. I've perfected the art of procrastination over the course of my life. I am excellent at wasting time. I'm even more excellent at feeling guilty about it, but then not changing the behavior.
It's been more of an issue to me since I've been sitting around at home. I mean, I've always had issues with thinking I'm so far behind my peers - that I haven't accomplished enough, and that I don't even have the direction or motivation to accomplish anything. But after spending six weeks stuck in the house, more or less, I've realized just how long six weeks is. I've realized what could be done in six weeks, and how little I'm actually doing. I've lived through approximately 244 six-week periods. How many of those have I spent just like this? I'm not sure I want to know.
I don't want to go into a bunch of cliches here, about making every moment matter or...something. Mostly because I think every moment already does matter, and that doesn't mean it needs to be full of dramatic searches for meaning or what have you. We often learn the most about ourselves when we're not actively trying to do so. But eventually we all realize there's something we're not doing. We're not working the right job, we're not in the right relationship, whatever it happens to be. And we realize, when it comes to changing those things, time is against us. Time is against all of us. There are no exceptions. It's up to us to change how we react to that inevitability.
I'm starting small. I want to not waste the next month. I want to be able to say I didn't just recover - I improved. I want to use time to my advantage for once instead of feeling like its victim. And I hope that can set the tone for this entire process.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Day 14: Attachment.
Had another therapy session the other day. We didn't get into the hypnosis yet, because other things keep coming up that I need to talk about. But next week, it'll definitely happen.
My mother brought me to the appointment, so I introduced her to my therapist. And that, of course, brought on discussion of our relationship. I've known for quite some time that it's not exactly healthy. It's not completely unhealthy, either. It's functional, and I can safely say we don't hate one another. So, y'know...that's a plus, right? Nonetheless, we got to talking about attachment. And I have a pretty significant background in psychology, so the concept is not unfamiliar to me. She theorized that I'm insecurely attached, and that may have something to do with my current view on relationships.
I try to fight the stereotype of the only child. I was never "spoiled," neither with attention nor material things. At least not by my parents. I spent the majority of my childhood with my grandparents, since both my parents worked full-time. My grandmother taught me how to read and write. We watched her "stories" every afternoon, played cards, put together puzzles... We'd go on walks to the park, or she'd give me pointers on gardening in the back yard. She didn't work; she didn't even drive. I was her entertainment as much as she was mine. I don't remember too much of anything before, say, 12 or so, and she passed away when I was 14. But I do know her style of caring was different from that of my parents, and the transition probably wasn't all that easy.
Right, back to the spoiling... My grandmother may very well have given me more attention that my parents could at that point. But I don't know that I can call classify it as the spoiling amount. And as material possessions go, I never had the fanciest clothes or the newest toys. I started working when I was 15. I paid for my own first car. That was not exactly the norm in my hometown. What typical only child traits did I actually get? The sheltering. I never rode a bus to school. My mother drove me until I was 16 and able to drive myself. I never had a curfew, but I was 22 before I was allowed to leave the house after 8PM. I'm 28 now, and I still think she's perturbed if she finds out I take a shower when she's not home (slip and fall danger, y'know).
But I also very much got the "no, I'll do it myself!" complex. No, you may not open that jar for me; I'll do it myself. No, you may not pay for my dinner; I'll do it myself. It's the struggle for independence that most only children have. When you grow up around so many adults, all of whom are there (in the ideal situation, at least) to assist you at a moment's notice, sometimes you feel useless. If everyone does this for me, what do I do? Will I ever have to do it? Something in all this makes me think well-adjusted only children are difficult to find. They're either incredibly dependent because no one forced them to learn those skills, or they fought so hard to stand on their own that they've become detached or reckless. (A little developmental psychology is always fun.)
I'm a little on both sides of that fence, I think. I'll freely admit there are things I don't know how to do because I haven't had to do them yet. Like...live on my own. But on the other hand, it's something I want to do. Badly. Do I question my ability to handle it? Certainly do. But I realize I need to do it for myself and make my own mistakes. I understand the importance of being able to take care of myself, and to a certain extent, I accomplish that (current situation aside). But I wonder if I'm more in the "detached or reckless" category, because I really do have issues with feeling like I need someone. And the issue is that I don't want to. Even now, with the stuff I'm going through, part of me thinks that it's gotten this extreme because I tried so hard to do it on my own and not ask for help. I know "no man is an island" or whatever, but sometimes I'd really prefer this woman was.
Despite having been "out there" in the dating world for a while, it was actually fairly recently that I realized I may, in fact, be missing out by not being in a relationship. I maintained a pretty firm stance prior to that: If it happens, great. If it doesn't, also great. Now...it's a little different. I do want it. I do want someone. But that's still at odds with the structure I'd prefer within a relationship: No marriage. No kids. No joint bank accounts. As few things of "ours" as possible. I want to be able to get up and walk away if things don't work. I'm willing, in theory, to commit to a long-term relationship, but the formalities, in my eyes, don't make the bond any stronger or any more valid. I suppose the bottom line is...I don't want to lose myself in someone else. I don't want to have to consult someone else when I make life decisions. I'll allow for influence, but I don't want control. I want something balanced. And because I've never actually been in a situation that I could point to as being one way or the other, I've both idealized the middle ground and simultaneously determined it can't possibly exist without some kind of compromise. And I'm an only child, so I don't know how to do that.
I've always thought that, even though I've never been in a relationship of my own, I'm pretty well-versed on the ins and outs of that sort of thing. I've watched everyone around me make mistakes. I've seen what does and doesn't work, and I've observed interpersonal interactions between so many different types of people. You'd be amazed what you can learn by just listening. I know everything is totally different when it's someone else, but I'd still say I've gathered a decent amount of knowledge, and enough to say what it is I want. But now I'm starting to wonder if maybe that was all subconsciously determined for me beforehand, and all I've really learned is how to express it.
If anyone can tell me how to retrieve repressed memories, now would be the time.
My mother brought me to the appointment, so I introduced her to my therapist. And that, of course, brought on discussion of our relationship. I've known for quite some time that it's not exactly healthy. It's not completely unhealthy, either. It's functional, and I can safely say we don't hate one another. So, y'know...that's a plus, right? Nonetheless, we got to talking about attachment. And I have a pretty significant background in psychology, so the concept is not unfamiliar to me. She theorized that I'm insecurely attached, and that may have something to do with my current view on relationships.
I try to fight the stereotype of the only child. I was never "spoiled," neither with attention nor material things. At least not by my parents. I spent the majority of my childhood with my grandparents, since both my parents worked full-time. My grandmother taught me how to read and write. We watched her "stories" every afternoon, played cards, put together puzzles... We'd go on walks to the park, or she'd give me pointers on gardening in the back yard. She didn't work; she didn't even drive. I was her entertainment as much as she was mine. I don't remember too much of anything before, say, 12 or so, and she passed away when I was 14. But I do know her style of caring was different from that of my parents, and the transition probably wasn't all that easy.
Right, back to the spoiling... My grandmother may very well have given me more attention that my parents could at that point. But I don't know that I can call classify it as the spoiling amount. And as material possessions go, I never had the fanciest clothes or the newest toys. I started working when I was 15. I paid for my own first car. That was not exactly the norm in my hometown. What typical only child traits did I actually get? The sheltering. I never rode a bus to school. My mother drove me until I was 16 and able to drive myself. I never had a curfew, but I was 22 before I was allowed to leave the house after 8PM. I'm 28 now, and I still think she's perturbed if she finds out I take a shower when she's not home (slip and fall danger, y'know).
But I also very much got the "no, I'll do it myself!" complex. No, you may not open that jar for me; I'll do it myself. No, you may not pay for my dinner; I'll do it myself. It's the struggle for independence that most only children have. When you grow up around so many adults, all of whom are there (in the ideal situation, at least) to assist you at a moment's notice, sometimes you feel useless. If everyone does this for me, what do I do? Will I ever have to do it? Something in all this makes me think well-adjusted only children are difficult to find. They're either incredibly dependent because no one forced them to learn those skills, or they fought so hard to stand on their own that they've become detached or reckless. (A little developmental psychology is always fun.)
I'm a little on both sides of that fence, I think. I'll freely admit there are things I don't know how to do because I haven't had to do them yet. Like...live on my own. But on the other hand, it's something I want to do. Badly. Do I question my ability to handle it? Certainly do. But I realize I need to do it for myself and make my own mistakes. I understand the importance of being able to take care of myself, and to a certain extent, I accomplish that (current situation aside). But I wonder if I'm more in the "detached or reckless" category, because I really do have issues with feeling like I need someone. And the issue is that I don't want to. Even now, with the stuff I'm going through, part of me thinks that it's gotten this extreme because I tried so hard to do it on my own and not ask for help. I know "no man is an island" or whatever, but sometimes I'd really prefer this woman was.
Despite having been "out there" in the dating world for a while, it was actually fairly recently that I realized I may, in fact, be missing out by not being in a relationship. I maintained a pretty firm stance prior to that: If it happens, great. If it doesn't, also great. Now...it's a little different. I do want it. I do want someone. But that's still at odds with the structure I'd prefer within a relationship: No marriage. No kids. No joint bank accounts. As few things of "ours" as possible. I want to be able to get up and walk away if things don't work. I'm willing, in theory, to commit to a long-term relationship, but the formalities, in my eyes, don't make the bond any stronger or any more valid. I suppose the bottom line is...I don't want to lose myself in someone else. I don't want to have to consult someone else when I make life decisions. I'll allow for influence, but I don't want control. I want something balanced. And because I've never actually been in a situation that I could point to as being one way or the other, I've both idealized the middle ground and simultaneously determined it can't possibly exist without some kind of compromise. And I'm an only child, so I don't know how to do that.
I've always thought that, even though I've never been in a relationship of my own, I'm pretty well-versed on the ins and outs of that sort of thing. I've watched everyone around me make mistakes. I've seen what does and doesn't work, and I've observed interpersonal interactions between so many different types of people. You'd be amazed what you can learn by just listening. I know everything is totally different when it's someone else, but I'd still say I've gathered a decent amount of knowledge, and enough to say what it is I want. But now I'm starting to wonder if maybe that was all subconsciously determined for me beforehand, and all I've really learned is how to express it.
If anyone can tell me how to retrieve repressed memories, now would be the time.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Day 10: Agoraphobia.
I had my second therapy session on Thursday. We haven't graduated to the hypnotherapy yet; I've thought it necessary to do a little traditional talk therapy first, mainly because I haven't really been able to talk to another human being that isn't my mother or grandparents in over a month. My next appointment is Tuesday afternoon and we'll start the hypnosis then. I'm trying to convince myself I'm susceptible (15% of people aren't, and they're mainly introverts...like me), because I really want this to work for me. I'm going into it open-minded and hopeful, so that's got to count for something.
My main focus right now is the fact that I'm bordering on agoraphobic. In the past month, I've only gone out for appointments and a couple times for groceries. And going out alone has been pretty much out of the question. I've been too anxious to drive, and the idea of trying to drive then getting stuck somewhere and not being able to get back is too much for me. Someone has to be with me or I don't feel right. It's funny, though, that when I'm actually having a panic attack, I want people to leave me alone. Like...I want them in the same building, but not in the same room, I guess.
I've taken small steps lately. On Wednesday, I had to go to the post office. No one was home (another thing with which I'm still not completely comfortable). The post office is a half mile from my house. So I said to myself, "Okay...I have to go. I guess I'm gonna go now." And I went. Then when I parked the car, my gas light came on. After I finished my business there, I proceeded to the gas station, two miles in the other direction. I did it and I didn't freak out. But I was still nervous, and I don't know how much further I could have gone before the freak out occurred.
I told my therapist, who had just finished telling the insurance company I was agoraphobic and therefore unprepared to return to work (still true; being able to go somewhere alone for fifteen minutes for the first time in a month isn't exactly huge progress). She was proud of me, and asked what enabled me to do it. All I could say was that I just...got up and did it without really thinking about it. And I was feeling good that day, and it didn't seem like it would be as bad as it usually is. I didn't really have an answer. It just...happened.
Friday night, my dear feline was out of food, and I needed some snacks. So I went to the grocery store, one mile from my house. I shopped as quickly as I could, since I was still nervous, then went right home. The whole trip lasted twenty minutes. I'm doing it. Slowly. But I'm doing it.
(And yes, it's frustrating as hell to have been completely independent and not at all worried about stuff like this a couple months ago, feeling like someone flipped a switch and turned me into a different person. In case anyone was wondering.)
I have an appointment with my primary care doctor this week and with my psychiatrist next week. I'm not sure I'll be able to make the drives myself, but I have no one to bring me. I'm going to attempt to change the appointment with my primary to a day my mother can drive me. But I absolutely cannot change the psychiatrist appointment. I'm on a deadline for paperwork (psychiatric evaluation) that technically already passed, but the insurance company is giving me a break. My mother said she would take the day off, but she's been complaining about not having enough money to pay our property taxes...
It's times like this that make me a little sad that I don't have a someone to help me out. I'm stubborn and I don't really like to rely on anyone, and that's hardly the main goal of a relationship. But it'd be really nice to say I could ask someone other than my mother to drive me to an appointment. And they'd be happy to do it, instead of mumbling under their breath about the inconvenience, because they know how important it is.
I'm not asking for much.
My main focus right now is the fact that I'm bordering on agoraphobic. In the past month, I've only gone out for appointments and a couple times for groceries. And going out alone has been pretty much out of the question. I've been too anxious to drive, and the idea of trying to drive then getting stuck somewhere and not being able to get back is too much for me. Someone has to be with me or I don't feel right. It's funny, though, that when I'm actually having a panic attack, I want people to leave me alone. Like...I want them in the same building, but not in the same room, I guess.
I've taken small steps lately. On Wednesday, I had to go to the post office. No one was home (another thing with which I'm still not completely comfortable). The post office is a half mile from my house. So I said to myself, "Okay...I have to go. I guess I'm gonna go now." And I went. Then when I parked the car, my gas light came on. After I finished my business there, I proceeded to the gas station, two miles in the other direction. I did it and I didn't freak out. But I was still nervous, and I don't know how much further I could have gone before the freak out occurred.
I told my therapist, who had just finished telling the insurance company I was agoraphobic and therefore unprepared to return to work (still true; being able to go somewhere alone for fifteen minutes for the first time in a month isn't exactly huge progress). She was proud of me, and asked what enabled me to do it. All I could say was that I just...got up and did it without really thinking about it. And I was feeling good that day, and it didn't seem like it would be as bad as it usually is. I didn't really have an answer. It just...happened.
Friday night, my dear feline was out of food, and I needed some snacks. So I went to the grocery store, one mile from my house. I shopped as quickly as I could, since I was still nervous, then went right home. The whole trip lasted twenty minutes. I'm doing it. Slowly. But I'm doing it.
(And yes, it's frustrating as hell to have been completely independent and not at all worried about stuff like this a couple months ago, feeling like someone flipped a switch and turned me into a different person. In case anyone was wondering.)
I have an appointment with my primary care doctor this week and with my psychiatrist next week. I'm not sure I'll be able to make the drives myself, but I have no one to bring me. I'm going to attempt to change the appointment with my primary to a day my mother can drive me. But I absolutely cannot change the psychiatrist appointment. I'm on a deadline for paperwork (psychiatric evaluation) that technically already passed, but the insurance company is giving me a break. My mother said she would take the day off, but she's been complaining about not having enough money to pay our property taxes...
It's times like this that make me a little sad that I don't have a someone to help me out. I'm stubborn and I don't really like to rely on anyone, and that's hardly the main goal of a relationship. But it'd be really nice to say I could ask someone other than my mother to drive me to an appointment. And they'd be happy to do it, instead of mumbling under their breath about the inconvenience, because they know how important it is.
I'm not asking for much.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Day 6: The Meet Market.
In the midst of having all this time on my hands, I signed up for another three months of torture on Match.com. I've been a little more active than usual, making it a goal to initiate contact with at least two new people every week, even if I'm not really interested in them. If they say something in their profile that I think is interesting, I'll send them a message to say, "Hey, I think that's interesting." I don't get a lot of replies, but, y'know...maybe eventually.
I know it's considered bad form to cite yourself, but I'm going to. It's also a very lazy way of making an entry, which I'll freely admit. This is from my personal blog, written in March, and some people have probably already read it. But I genuinely had Match.com and its subscribers in mind when I was writing it, and now I'm reminded very clearly of just how annoying it all can be.
I still mean that. All of it. And it still makes me want to try a matchmaker. Of course, it would be just like me to make someone else do all the work. And that's not really in the spirit of what I'm trying to accomplish here.
I think what I find most frustrating, in line with my lazily quoted previous rant, is that I can't find "my kind" of people. I'll try to fight the idea that I have a type, but I most definitely do, and I still haven't been able to track them down with any regularity. Sure, I can create as many custom searches as I want. But it still just...isn't right.
Does this mean I'll have to meet people...by leaving the house?
I know it's considered bad form to cite yourself, but I'm going to. It's also a very lazy way of making an entry, which I'll freely admit. This is from my personal blog, written in March, and some people have probably already read it. But I genuinely had Match.com and its subscribers in mind when I was writing it, and now I'm reminded very clearly of just how annoying it all can be.
I make no secret of it: I'm an online dating veteran. I'm on multiple sites and have been for multiple years. Given that admission, it should come as no surprise that I have very little luck in such endeavors. I've made a few friends (who are awesome, and no, I don't lie about how we met), but nothing's stuck romantically so far. Is it frustrating? Well...yes. Very much so. But I'm not exactly a social person, and have such a difficult time meeting people in the real world... So I continue. More passively these days, but I continue.
I'm not pleased with the selection, honestly. It's just like a trip to the mall. This one's too expensive, this one doesn't fit, this one requires installation... But it's just like me to find something wrong, even in the context of superficial analysis and relative anonymity.
I really want dating sites to start sorting matches into three categories, just for the bitter folks:
"People you would never date, but will inevitably pursue you most aggressively." This is reserved for everyone twice your age, who never learned to type properly, who likes "Jersey Shore" unironically and models their life after it, or calls you "mami" in their first message. These are the people whose profiles you bypass because you can't even get through the headline without cringing. They will comprise most of your activity on the site, because you'll have to respond to them to say you're not interested.
"People who would never date you, but are here to keep your ego in check." Don't get too cocky and start thinking you're too good for this online dating thing. See these guys? They're good-looking, smart, funny, and successful...and they want nothing to do with you! Go ahead, keep window shopping, eat some more chocolate, and hug your cat a little tighter. These men will not date you.
"Seriously, you've both been on this site for five years. Just fuck already." You're not really attracted to him and he's not really attracted to you, but you're both still here because you're lonely. Get your average selves together, have an average time, culminating in some average sex, then begin an average relationship, because that's all either of you are ever going to get. So either give Grandpa over there a shot and hope he doesn't break a hip, keep pining for Mr. Perfect while you cry into a party-sized bag of potato chips, or settle for the guy who might be...sort of attractive...if you squint a little...and disregard the fact that all he's talked about is his crazy ex-wife. It's destiny, you idiot. Destiny!
Sure, they already list percentages of potential compatibility. But we don't assess ourselves fairly when it comes to stuff like that, and we often have a narrow view of what's acceptable when it comes to others and what we think would be good for us. In fact, we're often wrong. It's not about the black and white or multiple choice questions that provide the numbers; that's all misleading. You have to read people in their own words. Y'know, if you can be certain you're speaking the same language.
I want my online dating sites to be smarter than that. Seriously. Tell me who I'm supposed to settle for.
I still mean that. All of it. And it still makes me want to try a matchmaker. Of course, it would be just like me to make someone else do all the work. And that's not really in the spirit of what I'm trying to accomplish here.
I think what I find most frustrating, in line with my lazily quoted previous rant, is that I can't find "my kind" of people. I'll try to fight the idea that I have a type, but I most definitely do, and I still haven't been able to track them down with any regularity. Sure, I can create as many custom searches as I want. But it still just...isn't right.
Does this mean I'll have to meet people...by leaving the house?
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Day 2: Romance.
And now for my relationship history. Or lack thereof.
Some basics first. My orientation? Prepare for liberal citation of Wikipedia (just so anyone who may not be familiar can get an idea of what I'm talking about). I consider myself "heteroflexible." In terms of the Kinsey Scale, I'm a 1. I would never claim to be exclusively heterosexual; I think we fall in love with people and not bodies. I may be more Pansexual, but when it comes to attraction, I definitely prefer Cisgender males. This doesn't mean, however, that I couldn't or wouldn't imagine myself being in a romantic relationship with someone who identifies differently. I've been attracted to women before, and I would have absolutely no issue being with a Transgender or Genderqueer individual.
Now, here's the wrench: I also consider myself to be Asexual. I don't have sex. I don't do much of anything else, either, but that's the most important part of it. Getting deeper into this is more appropriate for a separate entry (which will happen). But yes, I do realize this is uncommon. And I'm not saying it'll never happen. I'm just saying that this is what suits me best at this moment in time. I'm actually very sex-positive; I know it can be a wonderful thing. And, well...it should be a wonderful thing. I don't think it's "gross" or "weird." It's somewhat akin to my distaste for asparagus. I don't want to eat it, so I don't. I don't want to have sex, so I don't. Easy enough.
So as I've covered, I've never been in a relationship. I've been in a couple fake ones, mostly with women. But no declared, confirmed, real relationships. I don't do a whole lot of dating. I find the majority of people in general rather unlikeable at first exposure. For every ten people who introduce themselves to me, I will find something instantly wrong with 8 of them, then I'll find something wrong with an additional person a little later. I only find 10% of the people I meet acceptable to continue interaction. It's harsh, I know. So obviously I admit to being very picky about with whom I spend my time, in whatever capacity. And this very clearly impacts my attempts to be in a relationship.
I'm not even sure I had my first crush until I was in my mid-teens. I was always friends with boys as a kid. I played Legos and Transformers with them, just like I played Barbies and My Little Ponies with my female friends. So even though I was quite aware of sex, what it was, and what it did by the time I was 7 or 8 (yes, really), it took me a really long time to think of males in different terms. And then when it came to the point where I had a crush, it was always on my best male friend at the time. Because I thought that's how it had to be. Even as an adolescent, I somehow felt the pressure of the "men and women can't just be friends" argument.
I didn't date in high school. At all. The closest I came was having a guy ask me to my junior prom. I made up an excuse as to why I couldn't go, then he may or may not have overheard me calling him ugly later that day. I'm fairly certain some people I went to school with thought, and still think, I'm a lesbian because they never saw me with a guy. Which is fine, really. In addition to not dating, I did everything I could to keep any interest I had in a guy under wraps. I'd tell my two or three best friends and hope they wouldn't spread it. Then I would avoid the guy at all costs. The one time the guy actually found out I liked him, I freaked out, got in my car, and left school for the day. I was a senior, so I could do that. But I was 18 years old, and the idea that someone knew I was interested in them as more than a friend was positively mortifying. In a lot of ways, that hasn't really changed. As recently as a couple months ago, I went through the same thing, and I was still just as terrified.
I'm not a social person. I don't drink, I don't like crowds, I don't like parties or bars or clubs... When you're in your late teens and early twenties, that's what you do to meet people, and I never really did that. Or you meet people at school. But I commuted, which automatically put me at a disadvantage. I spent two and a half years at Bay Path College, which was all-female. Then by the time I got to Hartford, I was considerably older than most of the people I had classes with, and I was too busy working to be concerned with making friends. So when I realized just how much I was missing in that area, I turned to internet dating.
Name a dating site. I'm either on it currently or I've been on it at some point in the past. I've paid money, and am paying money right now, for their "services." Do I consider it money well spent? Up to this point, absolutely not. Not even a little bit. I've had better luck on free sites, if you could call it "luck" at all. Here are some examples:
The Surprise Visitor: We exchanged a few emails, and then we started talking on the phone. For five or six hours at a time, a few nights a week. Everything was going really well, and we were going to actually get together. Then one night, he visited me at work - uninvited. We chatted awkwardly until my manager gave me the evil eye and I told him to leave. He said he'd call me. He never did. I emailed him asking what was wrong, and he told me he was "too busy." Just like that, after feeling like it was really going somewhere. Also of note? This was my first experience with online dating.
(This story has a twist, though. I saw him about six years later at a friend's birthday party; they knew each other from an activity they both did. He kept looking at me like he couldn't figure out how he knew me, but I recognized him instantly. This was during the short period of time where I actually partook of alcohol, and I got drunk and had to go to a different end of the bar so I wouldn't start a fight with him. No hard feelings. None at all.)
The Pre-Emptive Dumping: After exchanging a few messages, we agreed to make plans for coffee. I suggested a location. He replied that, all of a sudden, he "wasn't ready for a relationship," and "didn't think this would work out." The tone of the message was far too serious for the length of time we'd "known" each other. He was breaking up with me, and we hadn't even met.
The Last-Minute Ditching: We went on one date. It went well. We continued to talk, and things were going in a decidedly sexual direction. The night before we were supposed to have our second date, he told me he'd met someone else. Especially devastating because I had never so seriously considered that level of physical intimacy with someone, and that was what I got for it.
The Disappearing Act: I bucked my usual trend of talking to a guy for several weeks before meeting, and we met after just a few days. I knew he had his share of mental and emotional issues; we bonded over that. I was aware he was moody and unpredictable, and I really didn't care because we got along. We went on a date. It went well. We both said we'd do it again sometime. Then my calls went unanswered, his replies to my messages were short, and then he disappeared completely. A couple months later, I sent him an email to make sure he was still alive. His reply? "I'm fine; I just don't feel like seeing people right now." Lucky me.
The Reunion: I ended up corresponding with a guy I went to high school with after "meeting" online. He was a senior when I was a freshman, so we didn't really "know" one another; it was more like "knowing of" one another. But we eventually got together for coffee. Now, I'm not usually one for strict displays of decorum. But when one is in a quiet bookstore, I do not believe one should be speaking loudly about their sex life. I played along at the time, as I wouldn't have taken issue with the conversation in another setting. But speaking as someone who engages in many instances of TMI, things got way TMI way too fast. We've exchanged emails in passing since then, but he is...not someone I'd want to date.
These examples speak for themselves. This is what I've dealt with out in the dating world. There are no good stories because I have no good stories (with the exception of the couple of men I've met via online dating who have become my friends; there was no attempt to date, so I don't include those).
Not that I'm looking for a "prince," but the question here is... How many more frogs do I have to "kiss"? How much more patience do I have? Can I somehow get myself to believe it's all worth it?
Some basics first. My orientation? Prepare for liberal citation of Wikipedia (just so anyone who may not be familiar can get an idea of what I'm talking about). I consider myself "heteroflexible." In terms of the Kinsey Scale, I'm a 1. I would never claim to be exclusively heterosexual; I think we fall in love with people and not bodies. I may be more Pansexual, but when it comes to attraction, I definitely prefer Cisgender males. This doesn't mean, however, that I couldn't or wouldn't imagine myself being in a romantic relationship with someone who identifies differently. I've been attracted to women before, and I would have absolutely no issue being with a Transgender or Genderqueer individual.
Now, here's the wrench: I also consider myself to be Asexual. I don't have sex. I don't do much of anything else, either, but that's the most important part of it. Getting deeper into this is more appropriate for a separate entry (which will happen). But yes, I do realize this is uncommon. And I'm not saying it'll never happen. I'm just saying that this is what suits me best at this moment in time. I'm actually very sex-positive; I know it can be a wonderful thing. And, well...it should be a wonderful thing. I don't think it's "gross" or "weird." It's somewhat akin to my distaste for asparagus. I don't want to eat it, so I don't. I don't want to have sex, so I don't. Easy enough.
So as I've covered, I've never been in a relationship. I've been in a couple fake ones, mostly with women. But no declared, confirmed, real relationships. I don't do a whole lot of dating. I find the majority of people in general rather unlikeable at first exposure. For every ten people who introduce themselves to me, I will find something instantly wrong with 8 of them, then I'll find something wrong with an additional person a little later. I only find 10% of the people I meet acceptable to continue interaction. It's harsh, I know. So obviously I admit to being very picky about with whom I spend my time, in whatever capacity. And this very clearly impacts my attempts to be in a relationship.
I'm not even sure I had my first crush until I was in my mid-teens. I was always friends with boys as a kid. I played Legos and Transformers with them, just like I played Barbies and My Little Ponies with my female friends. So even though I was quite aware of sex, what it was, and what it did by the time I was 7 or 8 (yes, really), it took me a really long time to think of males in different terms. And then when it came to the point where I had a crush, it was always on my best male friend at the time. Because I thought that's how it had to be. Even as an adolescent, I somehow felt the pressure of the "men and women can't just be friends" argument.
I didn't date in high school. At all. The closest I came was having a guy ask me to my junior prom. I made up an excuse as to why I couldn't go, then he may or may not have overheard me calling him ugly later that day. I'm fairly certain some people I went to school with thought, and still think, I'm a lesbian because they never saw me with a guy. Which is fine, really. In addition to not dating, I did everything I could to keep any interest I had in a guy under wraps. I'd tell my two or three best friends and hope they wouldn't spread it. Then I would avoid the guy at all costs. The one time the guy actually found out I liked him, I freaked out, got in my car, and left school for the day. I was a senior, so I could do that. But I was 18 years old, and the idea that someone knew I was interested in them as more than a friend was positively mortifying. In a lot of ways, that hasn't really changed. As recently as a couple months ago, I went through the same thing, and I was still just as terrified.
I'm not a social person. I don't drink, I don't like crowds, I don't like parties or bars or clubs... When you're in your late teens and early twenties, that's what you do to meet people, and I never really did that. Or you meet people at school. But I commuted, which automatically put me at a disadvantage. I spent two and a half years at Bay Path College, which was all-female. Then by the time I got to Hartford, I was considerably older than most of the people I had classes with, and I was too busy working to be concerned with making friends. So when I realized just how much I was missing in that area, I turned to internet dating.
Name a dating site. I'm either on it currently or I've been on it at some point in the past. I've paid money, and am paying money right now, for their "services." Do I consider it money well spent? Up to this point, absolutely not. Not even a little bit. I've had better luck on free sites, if you could call it "luck" at all. Here are some examples:
The Surprise Visitor: We exchanged a few emails, and then we started talking on the phone. For five or six hours at a time, a few nights a week. Everything was going really well, and we were going to actually get together. Then one night, he visited me at work - uninvited. We chatted awkwardly until my manager gave me the evil eye and I told him to leave. He said he'd call me. He never did. I emailed him asking what was wrong, and he told me he was "too busy." Just like that, after feeling like it was really going somewhere. Also of note? This was my first experience with online dating.
(This story has a twist, though. I saw him about six years later at a friend's birthday party; they knew each other from an activity they both did. He kept looking at me like he couldn't figure out how he knew me, but I recognized him instantly. This was during the short period of time where I actually partook of alcohol, and I got drunk and had to go to a different end of the bar so I wouldn't start a fight with him. No hard feelings. None at all.)
The Pre-Emptive Dumping: After exchanging a few messages, we agreed to make plans for coffee. I suggested a location. He replied that, all of a sudden, he "wasn't ready for a relationship," and "didn't think this would work out." The tone of the message was far too serious for the length of time we'd "known" each other. He was breaking up with me, and we hadn't even met.
The Last-Minute Ditching: We went on one date. It went well. We continued to talk, and things were going in a decidedly sexual direction. The night before we were supposed to have our second date, he told me he'd met someone else. Especially devastating because I had never so seriously considered that level of physical intimacy with someone, and that was what I got for it.
The Disappearing Act: I bucked my usual trend of talking to a guy for several weeks before meeting, and we met after just a few days. I knew he had his share of mental and emotional issues; we bonded over that. I was aware he was moody and unpredictable, and I really didn't care because we got along. We went on a date. It went well. We both said we'd do it again sometime. Then my calls went unanswered, his replies to my messages were short, and then he disappeared completely. A couple months later, I sent him an email to make sure he was still alive. His reply? "I'm fine; I just don't feel like seeing people right now." Lucky me.
The Reunion: I ended up corresponding with a guy I went to high school with after "meeting" online. He was a senior when I was a freshman, so we didn't really "know" one another; it was more like "knowing of" one another. But we eventually got together for coffee. Now, I'm not usually one for strict displays of decorum. But when one is in a quiet bookstore, I do not believe one should be speaking loudly about their sex life. I played along at the time, as I wouldn't have taken issue with the conversation in another setting. But speaking as someone who engages in many instances of TMI, things got way TMI way too fast. We've exchanged emails in passing since then, but he is...not someone I'd want to date.
These examples speak for themselves. This is what I've dealt with out in the dating world. There are no good stories because I have no good stories (with the exception of the couple of men I've met via online dating who have become my friends; there was no attempt to date, so I don't include those).
Not that I'm looking for a "prince," but the question here is... How many more frogs do I have to "kiss"? How much more patience do I have? Can I somehow get myself to believe it's all worth it?
Friday, July 1, 2011
Day 1: Therapy.
(Note: Please bear with me. The first couple entries may not seem to support the premise of this blog, but I can promise it's all a part of the process. They also may be quite lengthy, for which I do wholeheartedly apologize.)
I've struggled with anxiety since I was 17. I remember how it started.
Winter of my senior year of high school. I was planning to attend Boston University in the fall, and it was going to be the first time I'd been away from home for longer than a couple days. Like most incoming college freshmen, I was nervous about the impending change. But then, around the time I was finalizing my decision, I found out my parents were divorcing. My father had been unfaithful, and as soon as I graduated, he was planning on leaving to be with the other woman. My mother would be alone at home, looking for a different job so she could support herself, pay for my education, and acquire health insurance. Things were about to change. A lot.
Just before my birthday in January, I noticed changes in my behavior. I'd get very nervous for no reason. I'd be short of breath and my hands would shake. I'd feel restless, and I'd have to get up and do something. Usually I would clean. Being 17, I didn't think too much of it. Then I started having negative reactions to driving. I was working about ten miles from home at the time, and I'd be on my way to work after leaving school, then I'd begin to get dizzy halfway through my drive. My throat and chest would tighten and my mouth would become dry. As time went on, these sensations increased in severity. I was terrified to get in a car.
A few months later, I finally got up the nerve to mention it to my doctor. He diagnosed me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and I began taking a low dose of Paxil. Things improved, and despite the reservations I had about leaving home for school, I moved to Boston that August. But I wasn't as well as I thought I was. The physical manifestations of my anxiety were under control, but socially, I was having a hard time. I was having difficulty relating to my new peers, and it didn't help knowing that things at home weren't going well, either. I couldn't handle being at BU, and I came home after just over a week.
I returned to my job and enrolled in community college the next semester. I transferred to two more schools, going part-time and working full-time, and I finally graduated from the University of Hartford in 2008. The Paxil got me through. I figured after the stress of college had ended, I would be able to go medication-free. I went through the hellish process of coming of an antidepressant (during the two weeks of withdrawals, I wished I was dead - seriously), and everything was fine. For a year.
Since then, I've relapsed twice. I've tried almost every antidepressant and anxiolytic out there, but I'm very sensitive to medications, and if there's a side effect, I'll get it. Especially if it's rare. Celexa, Prozac, Cymbalta, Effexor, Buspar, Ativan, Klonopin, Paxil again... Some of those made me feel worse. Some of them I wouldn't even take because I was afraid of feeling worse. I gave up. I just did the best I could to cope without chemical intervention. I tried therapy, and we hit a dead end when I refused to try any more medications. I went on with my life. The quality of said life was questionable, but I lived it.
Until about a month ago. I'd noticed my symptoms worsening slowly, and then I returned to work from a ten-day vacation and spent my entire first shift back having a panic attack. Prior to that, the driving anxiety had returned worse than before, the breathing problems were more present... Spending an entire day on the verge of a breakdown made me realize I needed to get help. Again.
I've been out of work since the beginning of June. I've been on Zoloft for just over three weeks, and it hasn't been a miracle cure, but I've had no negative effects. So I'm waiting the requisite six weeks to see just how much it'll help (if, indeed, it does). I'm still having a really hard time driving, and even leaving the house causes an immense amount of anxiety (which is why I've only been out four times in a month, just for appointments and to buy food). I don't feel ready to go back to work yet, but...well, that's a longer, much less related story.
I'm also back in therapy. I had my first session yesterday. I was lucky enough to find someone I genuinely think can help me (after one visit, she's already going to bat for me with my insurance company, on a holiday weekend). She's a marriage and family therapist, and also certified in hypnotherapy. I was most interested in exploring whether hypnosis could help combat the driving anxiety. But as events unfolded during the week between making the appointment and going to the session, I realized what was going on was...bigger than that. That particular manifestation of my anxiety is the one that frustrates and confounds me the most, and I certainly want to take care of it. But that's treating the symptom and not the cause.
I'm not happy with my life. I feel guilty every day that I could be doing more. I could be in a different place, with a different job, different people... I'm capable of more than I'm doing. And I've spent 28 years being lazy and being afraid of failure. I'm holding myself back. I have never been my own advocate; I've sat around and waited for other people to validate me. I can't do that anymore. And my hope is that, through a combination of approaches, I can determine what I need to do to help and improve myself.
This is just the beginning. Here's to an enlightening journey.
I've struggled with anxiety since I was 17. I remember how it started.
Winter of my senior year of high school. I was planning to attend Boston University in the fall, and it was going to be the first time I'd been away from home for longer than a couple days. Like most incoming college freshmen, I was nervous about the impending change. But then, around the time I was finalizing my decision, I found out my parents were divorcing. My father had been unfaithful, and as soon as I graduated, he was planning on leaving to be with the other woman. My mother would be alone at home, looking for a different job so she could support herself, pay for my education, and acquire health insurance. Things were about to change. A lot.
Just before my birthday in January, I noticed changes in my behavior. I'd get very nervous for no reason. I'd be short of breath and my hands would shake. I'd feel restless, and I'd have to get up and do something. Usually I would clean. Being 17, I didn't think too much of it. Then I started having negative reactions to driving. I was working about ten miles from home at the time, and I'd be on my way to work after leaving school, then I'd begin to get dizzy halfway through my drive. My throat and chest would tighten and my mouth would become dry. As time went on, these sensations increased in severity. I was terrified to get in a car.
A few months later, I finally got up the nerve to mention it to my doctor. He diagnosed me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and I began taking a low dose of Paxil. Things improved, and despite the reservations I had about leaving home for school, I moved to Boston that August. But I wasn't as well as I thought I was. The physical manifestations of my anxiety were under control, but socially, I was having a hard time. I was having difficulty relating to my new peers, and it didn't help knowing that things at home weren't going well, either. I couldn't handle being at BU, and I came home after just over a week.
I returned to my job and enrolled in community college the next semester. I transferred to two more schools, going part-time and working full-time, and I finally graduated from the University of Hartford in 2008. The Paxil got me through. I figured after the stress of college had ended, I would be able to go medication-free. I went through the hellish process of coming of an antidepressant (during the two weeks of withdrawals, I wished I was dead - seriously), and everything was fine. For a year.
Since then, I've relapsed twice. I've tried almost every antidepressant and anxiolytic out there, but I'm very sensitive to medications, and if there's a side effect, I'll get it. Especially if it's rare. Celexa, Prozac, Cymbalta, Effexor, Buspar, Ativan, Klonopin, Paxil again... Some of those made me feel worse. Some of them I wouldn't even take because I was afraid of feeling worse. I gave up. I just did the best I could to cope without chemical intervention. I tried therapy, and we hit a dead end when I refused to try any more medications. I went on with my life. The quality of said life was questionable, but I lived it.
Until about a month ago. I'd noticed my symptoms worsening slowly, and then I returned to work from a ten-day vacation and spent my entire first shift back having a panic attack. Prior to that, the driving anxiety had returned worse than before, the breathing problems were more present... Spending an entire day on the verge of a breakdown made me realize I needed to get help. Again.
I've been out of work since the beginning of June. I've been on Zoloft for just over three weeks, and it hasn't been a miracle cure, but I've had no negative effects. So I'm waiting the requisite six weeks to see just how much it'll help (if, indeed, it does). I'm still having a really hard time driving, and even leaving the house causes an immense amount of anxiety (which is why I've only been out four times in a month, just for appointments and to buy food). I don't feel ready to go back to work yet, but...well, that's a longer, much less related story.
I'm also back in therapy. I had my first session yesterday. I was lucky enough to find someone I genuinely think can help me (after one visit, she's already going to bat for me with my insurance company, on a holiday weekend). She's a marriage and family therapist, and also certified in hypnotherapy. I was most interested in exploring whether hypnosis could help combat the driving anxiety. But as events unfolded during the week between making the appointment and going to the session, I realized what was going on was...bigger than that. That particular manifestation of my anxiety is the one that frustrates and confounds me the most, and I certainly want to take care of it. But that's treating the symptom and not the cause.
I'm not happy with my life. I feel guilty every day that I could be doing more. I could be in a different place, with a different job, different people... I'm capable of more than I'm doing. And I've spent 28 years being lazy and being afraid of failure. I'm holding myself back. I have never been my own advocate; I've sat around and waited for other people to validate me. I can't do that anymore. And my hope is that, through a combination of approaches, I can determine what I need to do to help and improve myself.
This is just the beginning. Here's to an enlightening journey.
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