On Sunday, my school lost a beloved student. He was brilliant, funny, dry, and always had a smile for everyone. Tonight I went to his memorial service held by the students, and I was reminded that to so many of us, he was more than a colleague and classmate - he was a friend. He genuinely cared about each of us.
I entered school in a relationship. That relationship no longer exists. It ended during a very stressful and tumultuous time in my life - the end of my 1L year. I felt deeply betrayed by how selfish and inconsiderate this other person was being. After it ended, he sent me angry, vicious, and harassing emails, even when I insisted he stop contacting me and that he leave me alone. My parents and more than a few of my friends were concerned with my safety. One day, he was sending me email after email, ranging from remorseful to cruel and insulting. The English fails to provide me a word to describe how I felt, but it was a mixture of resentful, angry, and frightened. I was on Facebook, and I started receiving instant messages from this friend from school. For some reason, I told him what was going on. His response was to tell me that this person's behavior was unacceptable, and although I did not know my friend very well, he volunteered to protect me and even get together a few of his largest friends and go inform my ex that this behavior would stop, or he would suffer consequences. I believe a lot of people say things like that, but somehow I knew that if I asked, he would indeed gather his largest friends and they would go put an end to the emails and phone calls.
I don't think I had any classes after that year with him, but I continued to see him around school, and every time I did, he met me with a smile, a wave, friendly comments, stories about his family, and genuine pleasantness, Every time I saw him, I felt like he was really pleased to have run into me, and I left every encounter in a better mood.
At the memorial service tonight, I heard a number of people talk about their relationship with him, and every person said they same thing - he was your friend, no matter how well you knew him. When I say he was beloved, I mean that every single person in our school who met him not only liked him, but admired him, respected him, and I hope they appreciated him. I hope that every person realizes that every day that had him in it was consequently a better day.
In law school, we live in an atmosphere that not only harbors a competitive atmosphere, but fosters it. We're supposed to believe that the people we see every day, the people we support, the people who support us, the people who have nervous breakdowns over finals and the people who witness our nervous breakdowns, the people we graduate with and who become our friends, are actually our competition. We compete for grades, rank, and jobs. We're supposed to be envious of the people who get the A's and always say the right thing in class. You always hear the stories of people who back stab you, spread rumors about you to hurt you, connive to knock you down, and it's true that those things happen. But that thought process didn't seem to apply to him. Even if you knew he was going to get the A, you had to be happy and you couldn't hold it against him, because he really, really, really deserved it. Not only did he earn it, but you wanted him to have the A, because he was all around a good person and you wanted him to succeed. And you know that if you got the A, he would be just as happy for you.
I thought I could accept his death. I thought that I was an adult, I've been to funerals, I know that life ends, and when it ends, that person is no longer here, and our job is to contemplate the shortness of life, be grateful for the people in it and the time we have, mourn the loss of a person, and then move on. I believed I understood this process. But tonight I saw how one person touched so many people, and I saw how this loss made so many people ache and hurt. I realized that I don't understand.
Tonight I learned that people make choices that don't make sense. Tonight I learned that you can never really know what someone is going through. Tonight I learned that for as much as I think I finally know what's going on, I will never have all the answers. There is so much that I don't know.
Tonight I learned how much kindness and sincerity can touch so many people, even if it's only for moments at a time.
I don't understand why he isn't here anymore, but I hope that he knows that he will always be part of the PSL Class of 2011 Family.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Let's Talk
A few days ago, I posted a link to a post about living with social anxiety on my Facebook. It didn't receive very much attention, but the comments it did garner were positive. As I said in response to one of those comments, social anxiety/phobia is the third most common psychological disorder in the United States, but it's one of the least understood. This means there are a whole lot of people out there who suffer crippling fear of social situations and interactions, and very few people who know how to cope or even find help. For a long time, I was among those suffering. Most of the time, it was tolerable. I hated calling people on the phone, talking to strangers in the store, or having to meet new people. I dreaded the inevitable first day introductions in class, and I feared the possibility of someone approaching me for a conversation at a bar. Occasionally I could push through, force myself to speak, smile, answer questions, and a lot of people had no idea I was so afraid. Some of the time, it interfered with my life. I wouldn't go out with my friends, I avoided parties, and if I did go out, I would frequently find myself locked in a bathroom stall, crying, or outside, alone, trying to slow my breathing before I passed out. I remember the day my social anxiety really reared its head the first time. I was in 8th grade, which happened to be the only year I went to public school. My best/ONLY friend was sick and stayed home from school. I felt completely, unbearably alone. I had a panic attack. Right there in class. It was horribly embarrassing. I was outright sobbing and hyperventilating in front of EVERYONE. The school dealt with this the only way they knew how - they pulled me out of class and sent me to the guidance counselor. Her office was cluttered. It felt small, and I remember I couldn't take anything more than shallow breaths. I was worried there was a limited air supply in the room. She sat across from me on a couch and asked me why I had a panic attack. "I don't know," I said. "I just want to go home." She wanted to know why I didn't want to be at school. "Because I don't belong here," I said. "I don't fit in. No one likes me." "You know," she said, "when I look at you, I think you look like everyone else here. I think you fit in." I didn't know what was worse - that I felt like everyone thought I was weird, or that this strange woman told me she thought I was just like all the pushy, judgmental people I feared. I nodded and left her office. I cried myself to sleep every day of my 8th grade year. This was how I lived for years - much of childhood, all of my college years, and into law school. I never questioned it. It was just how my life was. I learned I could keep people from asking me about it if I played the "Oh, I just don't like people" card. But really, I was afraid people wouldn't like me, so I never gave them the opportunity to reject me. I didn't understand what I felt. I didn't know why. It just was.
I stopped being able to hide it when I started dating my social butterfly boyfriend. When I am glued to my seat, hands locked in a death grip, reminding myself to breathe, he is making new friends, enjoying conversations, and having fun. It was only natural, then, for him to expect that when he was out making new friends, enjoying conversations, and having fun, that I would be with him. At first I tried acting like I just didn't feel like it. Then a couple of times I tried to go, and I would end up leaving early and crying myself to sleep because I felt like such a loser. Soon, it was a huge problem. I had no other choice - I confessed. First, on one of the several nights I stayed home because I was too afraid my boyfriend's friends would reject me, I called my mom. I told her how I afraid I was, and that I secluded myself in fear. Her reaction was one of confusion. My mother is a quiet, shy woman. She doesn't have many casual friends. She doesn't go out to happy hour. She stays home a lot of time. But she didn't understand my outright paranoia, didn't understand the extreme point to which I feared other people and the possibility that they would think I was weird. My mom thinks I am beautiful, likable, charming, and funny, so why would I think other people would think anything different? But she said there was a counseling office right next door to where she worked, and she said she would ask them if they had anyone who could possibly help me with this "problem." We didn't even know what to call it. It was a capital-P problem.
My dad chimed in at one point a few days later, telling me that I could feel better if I just THOUGHT about having fun. I told him that I didn't think the problem was that I wasn't thinking hard enough.
My mom gave me the business card of the counseling center, but it took me a long time to summon the courage to call. I made an appointment with the intern counselor, a girl about my age. My first visit, we talked about why I was there. Not knowing what to call it, I stumbled through story after story of nights spent on the couch in self-imposed seclusion, crying in bathroom stalls, and avoiding places, parties, and events because I was afraid of talking to people. She asked questions, but mostly I just talked. The second visit, we talked about my history - significant deaths, relationships, traumas, etc. She told me that understanding the past helps us understand how to move forward. Moving forward was what we did every other week for the next couple of months. First, she showed me an entry in her psychology book called "Social Phobia." She asked if that sounded familiar, and I said it sounded like they were describing me. Now that we knew what to call the Problem, we knew how to deal with it. She helped me think about situations, picture worst-case scenarios and think about how I would handle those situations if they happened. She talked with me about what it would mean if someone really didn't like me. She didn't tell me to smile smile smile and people would always like me - she took my fear and said, "ok, what if that happens?" It made me see that if a complete stranger doesn't like me, even if that's an irrational fear, it's okay. I felt like I was making progress. I was even able to go to my boyfriend's parent's for dinner and eat! In front of them!
Then my therapist left. She switched counseling centers, and the new counseling center had a wait list, and it was far away, and there were too many little reasons not to call and make an appointment at a new place. It's been a few months since I've been to therapy, and with school, I haven't really had the opportunity to require a lot of help in social situations. Still, there have been problems here and there, and I've watched my boyfriend go out without me a few times, because going out with his friends was still something my therapist and I hadn't covered. I knew I needed to go back, but without impetus, it was easier to put it off.
This past weekend, that impetus arrived. It was my boyfriend's sister's wedding, which meant a lot of new people, including his massive family, a lot of time being alone while my boyfriend performed his groomsmen duties, and I was without my therapist and her rational, pretend scenarios. I anticipated this, and consulted my doctor and he prescribed me Ativan. The Ativan. Oh, the Ativan. The Ativan, it helped. The Ativan has a new preferred spot in my medicine cabinet. We ask the holy Ativan to bless the mean now. Basically, the Ativan got me through, from meeting new people, sharing breathing space with a handful of drunk sorority sisters, and sitting through the reception while my boyfriend was at the wedding party table, to falling asleep when my brain would not stop replaying conversations and thinking about how dumb and awful I sounded. I still had a couple of moments of rockiness, like a panic attack in the parking lot before the rehearsal dinner. But then I sat down and popped an Ativan and like, totally fine, then, you guys.
I'm not going to give up the pursuit of therapy for drugs, though. I know it's important to have coping strategies and to develop the ability to one day put my social phobia behind me. I also know that more than drugs, support is essential to a person struggling with social phobia. I have been very fortunate in that aspect, and in fact, getting through the wedding and reception would not have happened if not for people I know I can rely on, people who understand my situation and care enough about me to sacrifice their Saturday nights and get up at 5 a.m. so they can sit through the wedding and reception of complete strangers.
That's why, even if you don't personally suffer from social phobia, it's important to educate yourself and learn about social phobia if someone you love or care about struggles with it. Their healing and progress depends on having people who will be patient and help them. That means you have to listen. And don't judge. We know you don't understand. Don't tell us we're being irrational. A lot of us KNOW it's irrational, but that doesn't stop the thoughts and fears from overwhelming us. For me, I need someone who will stay next to me, not put pressure on me, cover for me when I can't say anything, and go outside with me when I need to breathe. I don't know what someone else needs. It could be opposite, or the same. Be open to whatever it is, and do it. Do not ask why. Do not stop. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
If you do suffer from social phobia, I want you to get help. Social phobia hurts, and I know firsthand it can hurt your relationships. At some point, your friends are going to get sick of you bailing on them, and they're going to stop asking you to go with them. Your boyfriend will get frustrated telling his friends your sick/busy with school/on vacation and that's why you can't go out. You won't grow out of it, and it won't go away unless you do something about it. Social phobia is a trap that keeps you alone, in your house. It keeps you from growing, creating memories, and living your life.Whether it's therapy, drugs, or a combination of both, you can escape.
So, that's my experience, followed by my mini-sermon. This is the first time I have been completely honest with everyone about my life, and I'm doing it because I think people need to know that they are not alone. The more we stigmatize something, the more difficult it is to seek help. If we're open about scary things, they are more conquerable. So I'm taking the first step here and officially coming out. I have social phobia, and I am getting help.
You don't have to say anything here, but if you are also suffering and want to talk, or if you know someone who is suffering from social phobia and you want to help, feel free to contact me. I am not going to pretend I don't have all the answers, or any of the answers. I believe social phobia is a personal thing, and not one person's social phobia is going to be exactly the same as anyone else's, as far as you experience or treat it. But I want people to feel free to talk about these things. I'll listen.
I stopped being able to hide it when I started dating my social butterfly boyfriend. When I am glued to my seat, hands locked in a death grip, reminding myself to breathe, he is making new friends, enjoying conversations, and having fun. It was only natural, then, for him to expect that when he was out making new friends, enjoying conversations, and having fun, that I would be with him. At first I tried acting like I just didn't feel like it. Then a couple of times I tried to go, and I would end up leaving early and crying myself to sleep because I felt like such a loser. Soon, it was a huge problem. I had no other choice - I confessed. First, on one of the several nights I stayed home because I was too afraid my boyfriend's friends would reject me, I called my mom. I told her how I afraid I was, and that I secluded myself in fear. Her reaction was one of confusion. My mother is a quiet, shy woman. She doesn't have many casual friends. She doesn't go out to happy hour. She stays home a lot of time. But she didn't understand my outright paranoia, didn't understand the extreme point to which I feared other people and the possibility that they would think I was weird. My mom thinks I am beautiful, likable, charming, and funny, so why would I think other people would think anything different? But she said there was a counseling office right next door to where she worked, and she said she would ask them if they had anyone who could possibly help me with this "problem." We didn't even know what to call it. It was a capital-P problem.
My dad chimed in at one point a few days later, telling me that I could feel better if I just THOUGHT about having fun. I told him that I didn't think the problem was that I wasn't thinking hard enough.
My mom gave me the business card of the counseling center, but it took me a long time to summon the courage to call. I made an appointment with the intern counselor, a girl about my age. My first visit, we talked about why I was there. Not knowing what to call it, I stumbled through story after story of nights spent on the couch in self-imposed seclusion, crying in bathroom stalls, and avoiding places, parties, and events because I was afraid of talking to people. She asked questions, but mostly I just talked. The second visit, we talked about my history - significant deaths, relationships, traumas, etc. She told me that understanding the past helps us understand how to move forward. Moving forward was what we did every other week for the next couple of months. First, she showed me an entry in her psychology book called "Social Phobia." She asked if that sounded familiar, and I said it sounded like they were describing me. Now that we knew what to call the Problem, we knew how to deal with it. She helped me think about situations, picture worst-case scenarios and think about how I would handle those situations if they happened. She talked with me about what it would mean if someone really didn't like me. She didn't tell me to smile smile smile and people would always like me - she took my fear and said, "ok, what if that happens?" It made me see that if a complete stranger doesn't like me, even if that's an irrational fear, it's okay. I felt like I was making progress. I was even able to go to my boyfriend's parent's for dinner and eat! In front of them!
Then my therapist left. She switched counseling centers, and the new counseling center had a wait list, and it was far away, and there were too many little reasons not to call and make an appointment at a new place. It's been a few months since I've been to therapy, and with school, I haven't really had the opportunity to require a lot of help in social situations. Still, there have been problems here and there, and I've watched my boyfriend go out without me a few times, because going out with his friends was still something my therapist and I hadn't covered. I knew I needed to go back, but without impetus, it was easier to put it off.
This past weekend, that impetus arrived. It was my boyfriend's sister's wedding, which meant a lot of new people, including his massive family, a lot of time being alone while my boyfriend performed his groomsmen duties, and I was without my therapist and her rational, pretend scenarios. I anticipated this, and consulted my doctor and he prescribed me Ativan. The Ativan. Oh, the Ativan. The Ativan, it helped. The Ativan has a new preferred spot in my medicine cabinet. We ask the holy Ativan to bless the mean now. Basically, the Ativan got me through, from meeting new people, sharing breathing space with a handful of drunk sorority sisters, and sitting through the reception while my boyfriend was at the wedding party table, to falling asleep when my brain would not stop replaying conversations and thinking about how dumb and awful I sounded. I still had a couple of moments of rockiness, like a panic attack in the parking lot before the rehearsal dinner. But then I sat down and popped an Ativan and like, totally fine, then, you guys.
I'm not going to give up the pursuit of therapy for drugs, though. I know it's important to have coping strategies and to develop the ability to one day put my social phobia behind me. I also know that more than drugs, support is essential to a person struggling with social phobia. I have been very fortunate in that aspect, and in fact, getting through the wedding and reception would not have happened if not for people I know I can rely on, people who understand my situation and care enough about me to sacrifice their Saturday nights and get up at 5 a.m. so they can sit through the wedding and reception of complete strangers.
That's why, even if you don't personally suffer from social phobia, it's important to educate yourself and learn about social phobia if someone you love or care about struggles with it. Their healing and progress depends on having people who will be patient and help them. That means you have to listen. And don't judge. We know you don't understand. Don't tell us we're being irrational. A lot of us KNOW it's irrational, but that doesn't stop the thoughts and fears from overwhelming us. For me, I need someone who will stay next to me, not put pressure on me, cover for me when I can't say anything, and go outside with me when I need to breathe. I don't know what someone else needs. It could be opposite, or the same. Be open to whatever it is, and do it. Do not ask why. Do not stop. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
If you do suffer from social phobia, I want you to get help. Social phobia hurts, and I know firsthand it can hurt your relationships. At some point, your friends are going to get sick of you bailing on them, and they're going to stop asking you to go with them. Your boyfriend will get frustrated telling his friends your sick/busy with school/on vacation and that's why you can't go out. You won't grow out of it, and it won't go away unless you do something about it. Social phobia is a trap that keeps you alone, in your house. It keeps you from growing, creating memories, and living your life.Whether it's therapy, drugs, or a combination of both, you can escape.
So, that's my experience, followed by my mini-sermon. This is the first time I have been completely honest with everyone about my life, and I'm doing it because I think people need to know that they are not alone. The more we stigmatize something, the more difficult it is to seek help. If we're open about scary things, they are more conquerable. So I'm taking the first step here and officially coming out. I have social phobia, and I am getting help.
You don't have to say anything here, but if you are also suffering and want to talk, or if you know someone who is suffering from social phobia and you want to help, feel free to contact me. I am not going to pretend I don't have all the answers, or any of the answers. I believe social phobia is a personal thing, and not one person's social phobia is going to be exactly the same as anyone else's, as far as you experience or treat it. But I want people to feel free to talk about these things. I'll listen.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Tuesdays are the Best
Don't you guys love Headless Tuesdays? I do!
Today was actually a good morning. I got up at 7, went to the dermatologist (you guys might actually see my face again!), took my car to the doctor (Autozone) and got a diagnosis (for real) for its symptoms (check-engine light on). Now that the problem is narrowed down to one issue, I feel much better. But my dad has my car for now, until he feels much better about me driving it.
I also got a workout in this morning. I generally hit my apartment's gym for a mile run on the treadmill, then some weights and then the stair climber, all while I watch HGTV. But know what I did this morning when I handed the keys over to my dad? I also handed over my key to the gates and locks to the gym.
This somersaulted into moving furniture in the living room, discovering a dead bee on the floor, vacuuming the house, watering plants, and rearranging decor on the built-ins. Amazingly, all that took probably 10 minutes, THEN I got to my workout, even though I should have already been exhausted. Thank goodness for cocaine. Just kidding, future employers. It's 'thank goodness for protein bars.'
I did Jillian Michaels' Banish Fat Boost Metabolism DVD, a workout I have done before and enjoyed/hated. So I was a little nervous heading into it. I work out several times a week, but last time I did this dvd, I threw up. That might have also been because of the vertigo, but still. I don't like throwing up. Good news - I didn't puke! This is REALLY good news for you, because this story could have taken a much grosser turn. In fact, at the end of the workout, I could practically feel the endorphins pumping through my veins.
It must have been like the kind of high I imagine people on drugs experience. When I was cooling down and stretching, I had a few thoughts on Ms Michaels' career decisions. I may even address them in one of my favorite mediums, the open letter.
In th meantime, I'll end with this. My outfit today is based on two colors that have played prominently into Anthro's spring line up.
Green sweater: Ann Taylor Loft
Blouse: H&M (bought in Austria)
Grey tank: Target
Jeans: Levi's 507
Shoes: Ellen Tracy
Sorry, guys, I was just kidding when I said you couldn't see my face. Sorry!
Oh, and that title? I was just kidding there, too. Tuesdays are the worst.
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