Monday, February 20, 2012

Accepting the Hermit in Me

If I told most people who know me now that I am incredibly shy, they would probably laugh at me and say "Yeah, right"!  I can talk to just about anybody, and frequently embarrass my children by starting conversations with complete strangers in the checkout line at the grocery store.  I'm great with small talk at a party, and I can be pretty witty when I need to be.  But deep down inside, I'm still scared to death that people are going to see through the facade to the terrified girl who still lives inside me.

I have been shy for as long as I can remember.  In school, I never had a lot of friends because the idea of striking up a conversation with someone could strike terror in my heart.  I would get sick to my stomach if I had to talk to someone that I didn't know, and I still feel that way, I just control it better than I used to.  They used to joke that I knew what the top of my shoes looked like better than anything else because I walked around with my head down, rarely making eye contact with anyone.  I never had a lot of friends because I had no idea how to go about making friends.  In fact, I still don't have a lot of friends.  Small talk is easy for me.  It's what to say after that that still paralyzes me.

I look at other women who have these close relationships with other women and I have no idea how to develop a friendship like that.  All of the friends I have right now are either on line, or they are old friends who live miles away from me.  I don't have any friends in the town I live in.  Some of it stems from my chronic pain issues.  I'm not able to get out to really meet a lot of new people, and you can't exactly ask that nice woman in line a the grocery store for her number because you want to be her new best friend.  That's just creepy!

The other thing is that I actually prefer my own company to that of most other people I know.  I am perfectly content not to talk to other people.  I am able to entertain myself for long periods of time, and I've always been that way.  Give me a good book, and I can lose myself for hours.  I would be perfectly content if I never had to leave my house again.  I also have to have time completely alone every single day, or I can get very close to having a panic attack.  As much as I love my husband and children, there are times when I wish that they would go away for a week or so just so that I didn't have to talk to anyone and I could enjoy my solitude.

As a teenager, I was diagnosed with agoraphobia.  I quit going to school, church, anywhere that other people would be gathered.  I preferred staying in my room, and just getting in the car to go to my grandparent's house less than a mile away could induce a panic attack from which I was convinced I would never recover.  Thank God my mother dragged me kicking and screaming into therapy.  I am much better now, but I can always feel that teenage girl struggling to get back out.  I once mentioned to a therapist that I had Wal Mart-a-phobia, and she laughed and told me that, no, I didn't have that particular condition, it was the agoraphobia rearing its ugly head, and that she was proud of me for fighting it as hard as I do.

I think that the hermit inside of me is always going to be there.  After all, I'm going to be 50 years old this year, and as they say, you can't teach an old dog new tricks.  But I think that I am learning to strike a balance between the hermit that I tend to be and the social butterfly that I want to be.

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