Stepping Out of My "Comfort Zone"

Although I was never one who really "enjoyed" crowds, per se, I was able to tolerate them in my younger days, especially if it was in pursuit of something enjoyable. For instance, being in a crowd of thousands of people milling about at a Street Fair was a bit trying, but bearable, and worth it for the variety of music, dance, and other entertainment that was presented.

Perhaps part of my general uneasiness in crowds stems from my childhood. Both of my parents — but, especially my mother — were overly protective of my brother and me; and, my father might have only been over-protective simply because of my mother's infuence. As children, we were seldom allowed to play at other kids' houses — I can count the instances on one hand. I only remember one time when a neighborhood child was allowed to come and play with me, when the girl next door and I swang next to each other and talked for a while. Otherwise, it was just my brother and me, and each of us often played alone because of differing interests.

Our family often went for a ride through the countryside on Sunday afternoons, to see what there was to see. (Gasoline was cheaper in those days.) However, we seldom got out of the car except to perhaps stretch our legs at the top of a mountain for a few minutes before resuming our rambling journey. Other than those rides, going to school, and attending church, we children didn't go anywhere. My father, of course, went to work, while my mother was a homemaker (a typical position for women, back in that era). One of my parents would go to the grocery store, alone, and bring back what we needed for the week. My mother would usually mail-order our clothing, so I was seldom taken shopping. Therefore, my socialization experience was largely limited to the immediately family.

We moved to a different area when I was eight years old, for a job opportunity that my father found. The residents of that area were not very open to new people, so it was difficult for an "outsider" to create a bond with others, especially when they were already a socially-awkward, shy child. So, I had NO true friends, no one in whom I could confide, which made possibilities of future socialization even more improbable. I was also frequently bullied, both physically as well as verbally, by some of the other children.

The cycle was broken when I went off to college and lived in a dorm. Again, I was socially awkward at first, but still managed to make some friends because we were ALL "outsiders" in that environment. Fast forward a few years to an abusive marriage. Fast forward way-too-many-years later when I finally had the courage and resources to leave that abusive marriage. Fast forward many years until I met my true love. Fast forward until he was diagnosed with a terminal illness and died...

And with my husband's death came a strange phenomenon — my anxiety in many situations multiplied intensely. Perhaps the strongest manifestation of it is when I am in a crowd of people. It is more pronounced when the crowd is strangers; but even in a crowd of friends and family, it is still somewhat prevalent, but more manageable. Among a throng of strangers, though, my mind springs into hyper-alert mode, my heart palpitates, my hands shake, and I feel a primal "fight or flight" response kick into gear.

This panic response can also be triggered by online drama, I have discovered, especially if I find myself caught in the middle of a battle. I recently left one online forum because there were frequent disagreements, which grew quite heated at times. Others had fled that situation, too, describing it as "toxic." Having been raised to give everyone the "benefit of the doubt," however, I stuck it out, thinking it might have merely been circumstances of the moment. But those "circumstances" seemed destined to repeat, over and over, and I began to see flashes of my abusive relationship surfacing. It's bad enough to see others arguing, but when I am directly targeted and falsely accused of things, it triggers anxiety attacks. There were several times in the days prior to my departure when I could barely type because of my shaking hands, and I was genuinely concerned that the stress would trigger a heart attack because of prior cardiac issues.

In fact, just typing/editing this post has gotten my heart racing because of what I am about to make public. My hands aren't shaking this time, but it feels like my heart is about to pound out of my chest and is skipping a beat, here and there.

What was it about my beloved's death that has caused axiety/panic attacks to become so prevalent and intense? I cannot answer that, as I have no degree in human psycology. My uneducated guess is that he was my anchor, with a special ability to calm me during stormy times. I felt safe with him. Without him, my sense of safety in the world disappeared. Some people have told me, "It takes time," but even several years after his passing, the anxiety I feel among strangers is as strong as ever. As a result, I stay home most of the time and only go out into the world when I have to do it — typically, once every week or two for a trip to the grocery store, or to pay bills and run similar errands. The only way I can cope during those times is to force myself to become a bit "short-sighted," to focus only on what is directly in front of me, the task at hand, and try to ignore the throngs that are only a stone's throw away.

It has also occurred to me that I might have some slight autistic tendencies. While never medically examined for such, I can relate to much of what is described in the experiences of autistic people, e.g. social awkwardness, fear of crowds, a distaste for bright lights and loud noises (which overload the senses and create a feeling of confusion), and a few other things. Of course, these might rather be manifestations of the social conditioning and environmental isolation that I experienced as a child and have nothing to do with austistic representation.

A friend of mine told me several years ago that it is possible that I might have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), precipitated in-part by traumatic events earlier in my life and hastened into full-force by my husband's passing. I suppose that is, indeed, another possibility. I have actually shared a living space with someone with bona fide PTSD (which was brought on, in their case, from being in combat in the military) and my symptoms pale in comparison to theirs.

So, I don't know the source of my anxiety, nor how to control it other than living the life of a hermit. It is possible that a therapist or Xanax® could help, but even the thoughts of going out into the world to spill my guts to a stranger seems insurmountable. My only real-life friends live far away, in another state, and I haven't seen them in-person in years, although we talk on the phone frequently. The same is true for family. My "social life" at present is ONLY Steemit, Discord, and phone calls. For now, I will continue to immerse myself into the Steem platform, continue with self-introspection, and hope for the best.