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Rated: 13+ · Non-fiction · Melodrama · #1789979
An honest confessional detailing some of the difficulties I've faced psych-wise.
My self-diagnosis of Schizoid Personality Disorder has collapsed now that I have met somebody who doesn't actually give me the shits.  Such a person is a rare thing for me to find.  Most people make me feel like my personal space is being horribly and constantly violated.  Last year I began snapping at people who tried to get close to me.  I may look friendly initially but if people try to get any closer they find themselves suddenly facing a blank brick wall.  They face this even earlier if they commit one of the many faux pas that I cannot put up with from other people.  A friend of mine committed one the other day.  He was trying to tell me what to do with the headaches I have been enjoying for over 20 years now, and which I know all too well how to manage.  I can't stand it when people try to tell me about my own stuff.  I replied to my friend friend that yes, I have always had to lie down in a dark room when I have one of my headahces.  A couple of days later he tried to tell me the same things again, with a stubborn, insistent look on his face.  Little does he know he's just crossed over one of my big lines.

It is the rare person who doesn't push one of my many buttons or unknowingly set off a trigger.  Most likely I have Avoidant Personality Disorder but it seems to be mixed in with a couple of other things as well.  It would probably be diagnosed as a Mixed Personality Disorder.  There's even some Covert Narcissism in there.  There's all sorts of stuff going on in my tortured psyche.  It's an unfortunate, self-defeating mix of bad, often contradictory traits that make proper functioning barely possible.  I lurch and wobble from one bad situation to the other.  My life looks like a mess.  I live like a loner and fiercely guard what's left of my self-esteem.  I feel better at night.  I feel free when I'm walking around in the dark, with nature and animals, and feel no danger.  I have never felt like other people and have struggled awfully with it.

Now I've met someone I actually want to spend time with.  If he sends me a text message, I do not feel invaded or coerced.  I want to see him and don't feel the urge to hiss or spit.  I feel safe and happy in his presence.  He is laid-back; a slow, steady person with that certain warmth to him that laid-back people often have.  He reminds me in that way of my brother and our Gramps, who I adored.  A dry sense of humour, a hint of stubbornness, and a matter-of-fact emotional honesty.  I am thrilled to find someone like my Gramps.


I suppose the crazies will start showing themselves sooner or later.  He's as non-triggering for me as a person could be, but the crazies can only keep quiet for a short amount of time before something spills over.  He seems relaxed enough to be able to take it, without any neurotic or judgemental leanings that I can see so far.  He's one of those salt-of-the-earth working-class people who feel better without pretension and tend to be accepting, so hopefully anything that I come out with isn't going to be too shocking to him.  Anyway, on one of our early dates, he plonked himself down on my mother's couch and began to discuss, umprompted and unselfconscious, the side-effects of Effexor, and volunteered the information that his younger days had been a bit of a shambles.  Because I am the person that I am, this made me feel relaxed and happy.  I didn't, however, reply with any details of my extensive mental health history.  If I do disclose this in the future, it will be the abbreviated version. with heavy editing and redactions.

© Copyright 2011 Zipporah (filluel at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1789979