I didn’t used to have social anxiety or "phobia" back when I was drinking. Mingling came quite naturally during a good vodka buzz. But professional networking in a large room of strangers is very difficult to do stone sober. Even if the cocktail party is sponsored by GM with trays of stuffed mushrooms, bacon rolls, and salmon appetizers circling you every five seconds, insuring you break the diet you just started.
So at BlogHer, I walked into the Grand Ballroom of Navy Pier’s convention setup and saw approximately 750 fellow female bloggers (actually, there were about 50 men there also who say they were there to do business). Approximately eight people sat at a table, so that was 93.75 round tables. That’s a lot of people.
I could feel my breath getting shallow as I approached the buffet, so I clutched my St. Therese medal and begin the cognitive pep talk: "You felt this way at Girl Scout Camp too, remember? And you made friends there. You’ll be fine."
It’s funny how a business setting can automatically bring you back to the acne-ridden insecure years of junior high. In my case, when boys used me to get to my popular twin sister.
I’ve attended countless conventions. I admit to even liking them, because the sense of community in the religious publishing world (where I come from) is very nurturing. Mind you, I’m used to plopping down my plate next to a nun, with whom I would pray over our meal. So I was a bit taken back by this crowd: a cross-section of all kinds of subcultures--from the lesbians to the techno-geeks to the alternative folks with piercings on every body part.
I knew that I was not at the Religious Booksellers Trade Exhibit when a woman stood up from her table, took the mic, and explained that she wrote a blog because "my other friends just don’t understand when I tell them that I orgasm on the treadmill" (she’s obviously not on Zoloft).
When the woman in front of me went to hug the woman in back of me, yelling "You’re here!!!" I turned to the woman who was in front of her and said, "I don’t like these situations."
"Either do I!" she said. "What do you blog about?"
"These kinds of situations and why I hate them."
"Really?"
"Actually, it’s more of a spiritual mental health blog because, how do I put it, … I’m a holy whackjob."
My confession won me a seat at Blondie’s table (she goes by that … check out her great blog, "Tales From Clark Street"), where her sister, Rita (check out her amazing blog as well at www.surrenderdorothyblog.com). I was sure they were the popular girls. I could hardly believe that I had landed a place at the cool table after all the grief I suffered in my youth.
In junior high, I needed Acutane to win friends. But at BlogHer, all I had to do was talk about my mental breakdown. These are my kind of people.
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Unless Therese has been reading my diary, we're cut from the same mold. I, too, have social anxiety which first manifested in panic attacks when I was ten-years-old. My grandfather, my unconditionally loving parent, had died suddenly of a heart attack.
The feelings that overwhelmed me began, one night, when I was trying to sleep. I thoought I was dying, was terrified. My mother told our family doctor about them, he came over, hope sprung in my heart that he would make them go away with some miracle pill.
Instead he took me upstairs, sat on the side of Grandma's bed, and told me if I had another of those "spells" he would come to spank me. So I had panic attacks constantly for years, never told anyone, until I discevered that alcohol made them go away. Then, after years of alcohol abuse, the alcohol turned on me and made the panic worse.
I, too, have found peace through my spiritual life. Although I attend no church, I meditate daily, smudge my house daily with white ginseng and lavandar, chant, do whatever I find that helps me feel closer to the Goddess and all my angel friends.
I'm grateful to have found this site, have never written a blog before, and hope this is acceptable. Love, Jan
I just want to post a confession because I can't do it elsewhere. I have been fighting, physically beating this devil down, for weeks trying to get out of this hole. And I'm losing the fight. I'm experiencing every single symptom that plagues me and while I can tell myself all day that it's a sickness, and chant my positive self talk ("I can change my mind about myself" "i can change the way I see my circumstances"), I feel utterly alone and desperate. And losing.
My fall happened about the same time as your post "relapse". Here's to our journey out of the depths.
I felt compelled to comment after reading all of your blogs. I am on the upside of depression. I was born almost blind, several operations gave me 20/200 vision. I was sexually abused as a child. I spent my formative years in a boarding school in England. A lot like Oliver Twist. I left school at sixteen, moved away from home because my parents faught constantly and went to live in London. Not to make this into a novel, I suffered from poor self esteam all my life because I could never be whole not having the vision others had and because I had been used up physically. I carried a lot of hate, anger and frustration for many years. I now know that all my trials were for a purpose. To mold my character into what I have become; a strong healthy woman. I am a speech pathologist, marathon runner,and soon to be grandmother for the 5th time. I can only say that you just have to keep believing, even when days get dark, you have to believe you were put here for a purpose and you cannot fulfill that purpose if you believe you are weak and inadequate. If you really believe God made us all for a purpose and your faith is strong, you can pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Keep fighting!
I think a combination of everything would be just fine (in response to the question "What do you want from me"?
comment4,
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