part 46

I was talking to a friend the other day and the topic of mental illness came up.  She believes there are a lot more fucked up people in the world than we (the general public, society at large, etc.) know about.

I agree with her completely. Being obsessively self-analytical and having an overall fascination with human behavior has taught me how to recognize a lot of certain indicators of certain neuroses or behaviors or disorders or whatever, and a lot of the time I can pick up on them within the first minute after meeting someone new.

I can pretty much see at least some hint or slight indication of mental illness in everyone I meet. It is kind of fun, but also kind of scary, and it definitely does not help to reduce my inhibitions regarding new friendships. However, for the most part, I am okay with it.

The thing is though, I’m not a doctor. One of my friends reminds me that I am not omnipotent (it’s true, I’m not omnipotent, but somehow I always forget). Also, I am not psychic (that I’m aware of), and I don’t have ESP.

I can’t move objects with my mind, either, but that has more to do with a super-power concerning physics than a super-power concerning the general manipulation of the thoughts and ideas of others. Regardless, I do not believe super-powers exist. I believe that it is possible for the human mind to obtain a level of awareness and/or intuitiveness beyond what is typical in our world, but I don’t have that either.

What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah – my mental illness.

So anyway, I have had a theory congruent to my friend’s in that I believe there is much more mental illness in the world than we are aware of, or recognize, or give a shit about, or whatever. During that conversation with my friend, though, it occurred to me that by generalizing mental illness throughout the human population, I am minimizing my experiences and how they have affected me.

(I’m SURE I have written about this before….kind of sure. Whatever.)

I have been aware of how I systematically normalized my traumatic experiences as a component of the survival aspect of living life without my brain melting and dripping out of my ears. I had not considered the notion that I also have been normalizing the effects of those traumatic experiences, as well.

I have learned to recognize and accept the different ways my brain and body work as a consequence of trauma. For example, I get very easily startled. Just tonight, I was on a walk with my family and my husband touched my shoulder. He was standing right next to me – I knew he was there and that he wouldn’t hurt me, but it still really startled me.

Loud, sudden noises and movements trigger a duck-and-cover response in me. Suddenly becoming aware that there is another person (no matter whom or whether or not I previously knew they were there) in my personal space scares the bejesus out of me. (Side note: the word “bejesus” was not flagged by spell check. I just thought that was interesting and worthy of a side note)

I have noticed a distinct decline in my overall sensitivity to loud noises and things since my dad died. That has happened before, after starting therapy. The sensitivity declined, ebbed a bit, but came back again over time. I just try to accept it as one of those things I have no control over, because there are no set rules as to what will startle me, or when, or where.

These moments of being repeatedly startled are really very exhausting. There is a scene in the movie “Elf” where Buddy is doing quality assurance on jack-in-a-boxes. He knows that thing is going to jump out at him and scare him, and he had been turning the little cranks over and over and over for hours. Still, he was startled when that little jack-bastard jumped out at him.

That is kind of how I feel almost all of the time.

I have tried expressing to those close to me that I am very easily startled, but when I try to let them know each time I get startled (so they won’t do whatever it was that startled me again), I feel like I am making a big deal of nothing.

I feel like I am just trying to bring attention to myself and convince others to behave differently around me out of respect and sympathy for my “condition.” Actually, that is pretty much what that is all about when I tell them particular things startle me.

I used to not tell people at all about getting startled. Some people eventually noticed that I get startled pretty easily, but I didn’t point it out or try to think of an explanation. I will actually apologize to someone who startled me when my startling startles them back – I mean, I can really relate to how they feel at that moment.

This startling thing is one of those long-lasting effects of what happened to me as a child and young adult.

As I have begun to learn about the long-lasting effects of PTSD, and of complex PTSD, I get a little upset. It bothers me when I learn that something I always felt was simply “quirky” actually turns out to be a common effect of prolonged PTSD. I can tell myself that a lot of people who do not have PTSD do the same things in similar situations, too.

I want to believe that someone who is familiar with PTSD cannot watch me for a few minutes and recognize my dysfunction, that my “quirks” can be easily attributable to something else – something normal.

So does this mean I am trying to normalize the effects of trauma? Does it mean I am just trying to get through each day without over thinking every single reaction I get from every single person I encounter? If I don’t try to normalize these things, does it mean that I am histrionic as well?

I suppose all of those things are possible.

I can’t deny how difficult it is, though, when I recognize one more way I have been impeded in living life. I don’t like the idea that my dad and all of my other abusers are still affecting me now. It is actually kind of painful, and I want to cry thinking about it.

I don’t want to be disabled. “Quirky” is much more preferable.

But where does that leave me every time I miss a day of class or work because I’m too scared to leave my house? Where does it leave me every time I have to be told slowly and multiple times how to get to the bathroom in a public place? Where does it leave me when I get lost driving around the town I have lived in my whole life?

I don’t think “quirky” covers all of the ways I am out of place and obnoxious to inpatient people. I also don’t think that “quirky” is a valid excuse to forget to go to work, or to miss a final exam because I mixed up the dates or times.

Quite the conundrum, these things.

Of course, my dad is still dead, so things could definitely be worse.

J