Having conversed with that guy yesterday, it has raised some issues. No clue why, but I guess because we were discussing horrible happenings, like his friend doing years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.
I’m not sure why, but my mind went back to 2005, when I became psychotic. My mom responded by throwing me a birthday party (mostly so she could see her sisters), at which I looked like a serial killer.
I felt terrified. That was around when I felt an invisible hand choking me, so I’d often wear my warm winter coat despite the hot summer weather in order to create counter-pressure against the back of my neck. That was the only thing that made it feel better. I thought I was being poisoned in my apartment, and I could sense Evil Spirits hovering above me whenever I’d lie down. They kept threatening to kill my dad and my dog; and to burn my face off so I could become one of Her Royal Highness Queen Oprah’s tragic burn victims. (If you get burnt up and don’t agree to go on her show, you might wind up missing and eventually presumed dead.) (This is largely theoretical, because most burn victims just sell out. She’ll pay you quite well for the privilege.)
I just don’t know why it all came back, but I guess it was a really difficult time. I had no one. NO ONE. Just my dad, who, as we know, abused me as a child. So that’s all kind of messed up. But it was really hard to live in a world where everyone else on the planet couldn’t be trusted, and/or was out to get me, and/or was inherently evil, and/or was self-motivated to the point that I’d get hurt by it. Everyone.
It was bad, and it came about because I had no one to turn to. I was in touch with one aunt during this time, and she just quit writing back to me via email. I went to see a therapist, and the therapist reported everything I told her to an employee assistance program, who in turn called me and started asking me personal questions. I turned to a childhood friend, but he dropped me like a hot potato. My coworkers poisoned me with Alka-Seltzer for laughs. My mom was on vacation in Australia with her late husband Jim and couldn’t be bothered to talk to me. Everywhere I turned for help, I got shot down.
When I’d take walks with my dad and someone around the neighborhood would give me a kind word, I’d be confused, wondering what their motive was. Kindness seemed foreign and impossible, so I figured they wanted something.
Actually, it might not be talking to that guy that brought this up. Something else happened yesterday, something bad. I took my dad out to eat for Father’s Day. (He had brunch with my evil sister on Sunday, so he and I went out yesterday.) It was dreadful. As soon as I saw the servers mingling near the entrance, my paranoia became razor-sharp, and I cowered away from them and turned off eye-contact. During the whole meal, I was reminded that eating out really, really triggers my paranoia for unknown reasons. I can interact okay at a cash register in any kind of establishment, but for whatever reason, eating out is excruciatingly painful. Yeah, I bet that’s what it was. It really took a toll on me.
For years after I moved home from Georgia, my dad and I would eat out twice a week. Maybe it was practice in being around people again, but it just reinforced the paranoia instead of treating it. I wish I’d realized that instead of trying again and again each week. Several years ago, we quit doing it due to financial reasons. I’d forgotten completely how difficult it is for me to eat out. I’m not sure what the deal is, but it’s very hard. I feel like servers are energetically raping me, desperate to win me over so they’ll get a big tip. And I’m sure my self-protective standoffishness toward them hurts their feelings, so I usually do leave a huge tip. Yesterday, on a $25 meal, I made sure the server got $7. I mean, he must’ve been able to tell that I was terrified of him.
So eating out was a bad idea. I wanted to take my dad to Squire Boone Caverns for Father’s Day, but he didn’t want to drive an hour out of town in the heat. (Neither of our old clunker cars has good AC.)
This is good to know, though. If the guy I like decides he wants me in his life after all (hey, a girl can hope), then I’ll know not to try eating out with him. Heaven help me! There are other ways to spend time.
But what is it about eating out? I just don’t know. It just terrifies me. Note to self: no more eating out. Like, ever.