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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Just a reminder to anyone suffering from any disorder, addiction, or even just trying to change their diet. Relapses will happen. They will. The key is to Stop, Drop, and Roll. (Yes, that is also what you do when you are on fire. It’s not a coincidence that it is the same advice.)  You stop what you are doing, immediately, drop whatever it is that is causing your relapse, whether it’s a bag of chips, or a train of disparaging thought, and you roll on. Because you can’t go back, you can only roll on. Learn from it, but don’t stop.  Do not give up the whole thing. Especially if you also have AvPD, because your instinct will be to run. You will want to pretend that you never even tried to be better (or that you don’t deserve to be better.)  You do.  Everyone does. Except maybe Hitler.

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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Chronically batshit

It’s a real thing.

That’s what I have to say after discussion of literally any aspect of my mental or physical illness. It’s a real thing, I promise. There are more issues than I’d like to admit but like I’ve said before, this blog is about honesty.

Here is a list of the “real things” that I battle everyday—

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About Me, honestly

What about me?

Honestly. I’ve been many things.

I remember meeting a neighbor once. I was about twelve.

(Who am I kidding? I was definitely twelve. I know because social interactions never fade in my memory. No matter how much my awkward introvert heart wants them to fade— they’re solid. Pristine. The truck was blue, the neighbor was wearing plaid. My hair was cut in an unfortunate bob.)

Anyway, I am twelve. (An age I still have not outgrown much twenty years later.) And the neighbor asks me, “So, which one are you?”

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