Sunday, November 30, 2008

Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out

If a stranger were to see me on the street, on the bus or sitting in a restaurant, they wouldn't perceive anything wrong with me. They would just see me as a twenty-something, modestly attractive girl going about her day. Like so many others with social anxiety disorder, there are no outward signs - at least, before you speak with me - to indicate that I am anything other than a "normal," fully-functioning person like anybody else.

In my opinion, one of the toughest things about SAD is that, without the stereotypically obvious signs that someone has a mental disorder (like talking to oneself or poor hygiene) it is very difficult for others to understand what's wrong, or to even believe something could be wrong. I have told a select few people about my disorder and have been met with either mild disbelief or misunderstanding, for the most part. (Actually, when I told my mother about my feelings of anxiety and low self-confidence in social situations, she said she had felt the same way for the better part of her life. The range of emotions this aroused in me is something better left for another post.)

While the knowledge that neither strangers nor friends and family really "get" what's going on with me is disheartening in itself, it has led to a much scarier question, at least in my mind: If the people around me think that the Lucy I've been portraying all this time is my true self, what opinion must they have of me? It's hard to explain, but I feel that the self I show publicly to others - and that means to immediate family, close friends, colleagues, the works - is far removed from the individual I was meant to be, and most likely used to be before this disorder got into full swing some years back.

I perceive my "real" self as being articulate, funny, warm and creative, as well as slightly perfectionistic and neurotic. This, as I remember, is the child I grew up as. During junior high school and beyond, I felt this self slipping away, not disappearing but receding into a deep space inside that I can see from afar but can't seem to bring to the surface again. Thus, I perceive that the self I show to the world now is limited; characterized by timidness, blandness and distanced relationships that bear no resemblance to what I think intimacy should be.

It is horrible and depressing to know - even if no one else has actually caught on - that what you are giving to those you care about is a stifled and incomplete version of yourself. That maybe no one will ever truly know who you are again and, even worse, that what you lost is gone forever and this half-self is here to stay.

~This is my first post and obviously I am venting some of the darker, more intense thoughts that SAD has caused me. Honestly, there's just so much I could say about what this disorder has done to my life that I'm afraid this blog will be nothing more than a depressing rant. However, while this is partly meant to be a means for getting these things off my chest, I hope that others who suffer from SAD will take something from it and know that they are far from alone.~