Here comes trouble part 2

So, a few weeks ago I went to see Incredibles 2 with my husband. And before the show Holly Hunter, Coach, and Sam Jackson himself appear and say, “We know it’s been a long time since The Incredibles, but these movies take a long time!”

I lean over to my husband and say, “So, are people complaining that animated movies take a long time to make?” John gives me an emphatic, “Yes.” I humph. Which roughly translates to, “People suck.”

Another example, one of my favorite book series, Newsflesh, about bloggers in a post apocalyptic zombie age, says that “waiting doesn’t actually create suspense, it just loses viewers.” I am paraphrasing, but all this comes down to…

I know it’s been a long time since the first part of this post. But something happened…

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A Little Kindness

So, I’m home on the weekend from my theatre gig. It’s father’s day and because I understand my husband we aren’t really doing anything except some serious fast food abandon (lots of Popeye’s red bean and rice, the big tub not just the little one.) And while we are eating John mentions that he’s going to have some of our friends over to play board games while I’m gone next week…and my stomach drops.

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And the role of Crazy goes to…

I am in the middle of a relapse.  A sticky, ugly, anxious mood that refuses to quit. And the worst of it is— my timing couldn’t be more off.  I’m starting rehearsals for one of my shows next week. (My theatre consulting goes from simple advice and designs all the way up to director. This year is director.) Which means that the relapse happened right as I was casting more than 60 children and young adults into a Singing-in-the-Rain-esque musical I wrote based on Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. 

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That kind of crazy

I’ve been trying not to say anything about “gluten.”

I know, I know, gluten is a real word and so there is no need for the air quotes.  But you know what I mean. That person. That person who espouses the evil of one ingredient or another, then borders on a zealot in their need to change what every one else eats.

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Telling people with anxiety disorders that make them sensitive to “toughen up” is some serious bullshit. I can honestly say that this repeated bit of advice is what stopped me from getting help for more than twenty years.

“Toughen up” implies that you can get better through grit alone. Like you just need another run in with sandpaper and you’ll be able to live in this world with no problems.  (And the bitch of it is that sensitive people will tell you this most. Sure, you get the occasional blithe asshole. But mostly it’s sensitive people just trying to help.)

So—here’s your PSA of the day, PSA stands for Please Stop (giving this) Advice:

Do not tell sensitive or anxious people to “toughen up,”  or to “get a thicker skin” or even point out they’re, “just too sensitive.”

No shit.

No, seriously, no more of this shit. It’s not helpful.

What is helpful? … I don’t know. Everyone is different. But I can tell you that “sensitive” is often just a wash to ignore more complex legit issues, like depression, anxiety, and other disorders. So maybe next time someone is “just too sensitive.” Ask them, “are you ok?”

They might still punch you. I don’t know your life. Or your argument. But hey, you did your part to stop the cycle.

PSA over.

Poor Maureen

I have been talking a lot about my Avoidant Personality Disorder. Which has made me feel like an ambassador of some kind. But then I started thinking about my diagnosis, which was less than facebook official, and became suddenly wary.  (Which ticked my anxiety into high gear ironically—feelings of inadequacy, “I’m a fraud,” blah, blah, blah)  I don’t want to go into how I was diagnosed and subsequently medicated (boy, that sounds nefarious) but technically, well,  I’ve already mentioned it once before on this very blog so you probably already know… Cutting to the chase, I got my anxiety disorder diagnosed by my general doctor and not a psychiatrist.

Psychiatrist seems more legit, right? That’s what I thought too. So after a confusing series of emails to my doctor, the poor nurse may have thought I was some kind of nut (nothing’s wrong I just need legitimacy. No, I don’t want to hurt myself or others to get it. She wasn’t wrong about the nut part, but that’s not the point) I get an appointment with a counselor. They must deal with worse because she gave me a referral to the same counselor I saw when I first started my meds with very little hubbub. A counselor is like a psychiatrist, right?  I think to myself. Either way I don’t want to be too much trouble, so I take it.

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I am not a worm

In writing this blog, I’ve done some internet research on Avoidant Personality Disorder in order to help explain myself. Which, you know, is always a good idea. The internet and an anxiety disorder, what could go wrong?

One thing that has been bothering me is the blatantly whinged description of symptoms. And while they’re true, it sees almost rude to describe a person that way. I know, that’s silly. How can a medical description be rude? Like when you describe Irritable Bowel Syndrome you aren’t literally accusing a person of having a crabby intestine, right?

So, why does it feel like the internet is calling me a worm?

Personally, I’d like to set the record straight.

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Comments are closed

If you have read more than one blog post on this site (and congratulations you may be one of the only ones, except my Mom and Dad. Hi, guys. I’ll try not to say anything dirty this time) you’ve probably noticed that I do not allow comments.

Not yet. I have a somewhat philosophical problem with comments…

Comments give the illusion that every voice is equal.

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