Agoraphobia and Manipulation

Yesterday morning I was held hostage for a total of three hours. At first I thought I was being reached out to in love. You know, I need someone to talk to so I will reach out and this person will comfort, support and just listen for awhile. But that’s not what was going on.

It was pretty clear about an hour and a half into the conversation that I was being manipulated. They wanted me to “fill them in” on someone else’s actions, sayings, etcetera. To me this is voyeurism, it’s no different then dressing up at night in all black and spying through someone’s windows.

That moment of recognizing I was being manipulated is when the alarms started. Can you hear them? If you can’t hear them, can you recall the sound? Those are the alarms of caution, it sounds a bit like a fire house bell from earlier years: DingDingDing! Then there’s the alarm of manipulation. This sound is a bit like a vinyl record scratching to a halt. You think, ‘Huh? What was that? This isn’t a “reach-out” it’s a “reach-in”. That sound hurts. Then the church bells chime in. The bells warning you to be supportive but cautious. Remember, you love this person and they must be feeling desperate to use your relationship to spy on another person.

Somewhere in there the agoraphobic bells start ringing like tinnitus. They are muffled and broken. Panic is glass shattering and self-pity is sucking mud against your shoes. Walls going up is the sound of metal leggos snapping together and the need to get out of the conversation is a prayer chanted over in over in a silent whisper.

Eventually, the conversation ended and I sat back and shook and cried and played the conversation over and over in my head. When I finally determined to calm down I concentrated on breathing . But it seemed my chest expanded but the air was not getting in, just a thick goop that made it even harder to breath. I took a valium and slowly came down from that place that is a pit over the edge of a cliff. First you climb out of the pit, then you peek over the edge of the cliff and with concentration and lots of visualization the ground you are clinging to is just a step above the rest of the world. You step off, and if it’s a good day, it wasn’t all an illusion and you don’t find you’ve stepped off the edge of an abyss and will fall, sinking for days, weeks or even months.

You see for me, part of my fear is finding a way out of, not just situations, but also conversations that are disturbing. Sometimes I'll talk very fast, to hog the conversation, so the other person can't direct things. Sometimes I'll blank out and just smile and nod, you can't do that online or on the phone. Sometimes I disassociate completely and couldn't tell you what I was wearing at the time. There's a fear that making an excuse will be obvious and that person won't like me anymore or will turn others against me. It's a paranoia of being trapped in a conversation I don't like and lacking the confidence to just gracefully bow out.


Say what you will of my faith, but that’s what keeps me taking that step off the “little ledge”.

For an agoraphobic a betrayal in trust is a betrayal that sticks with you for a very long time. It doesn’t end your love for a person, but it edits every conversation and moderates every action from then on. I will continue to love this person and be their friend and even support them when they need it, but I will never again interact with them without suspicion. It’s not, I don’t think, a hard heart or an inability to forgive. It’s survival. People that try to manipulate you are manipulating others as well.

Agoraphobics Hollywood Style. (That means rich.)

I just finished watching a charming little film about a little girl alone on an island after her father takes a tiny little sail boat off in seek of a new scientific discovery. Daddy gets hit with a monsoon and the story begins.

Nim, the little girl, then begins an email friendship with her favorite author, Alex Rover a.k.a. Jodie Foster. Nim has mistaken Alex for the adventurer that Alex writes about by the same name in her famous books. When Alex figures out that Nim is a little girl and not the scientist’s research assistant, she conquers her agoraphobia and traipses off across the globe in search of rescuing Nim from the South Pacific.

What? Are you kidding me?

No, I’m dead serious. With the help of her imaginary hero, also the famed adventurer of whom she herself created, she beats agoraphobia.

I have a number of imaginary friends and frankly, they are more afraid of the world than I am. They prefer the Island in my mind to all the islands out in the big blue. Although, I have to admit, the island in my mind is much cooler than the ones out there.

Has anyone else noticed Hollywood’s recent obsession with agoraphobia. Ever notice how all the agoraphobics out there are little, albeit perkier, versions of Howard Hughes? Am I being unfair. “I think not!” she said earnestly. I mean how about we see an agoraphobic facing the holidays. Let’s see one faced with the monthly shopping on a fixed income. The internet is not a cheap place to bug groceries, not to mention skivvies.

Face it folks, doctors do not make house calls. People are not understanding or compassionate for more than a few days at a time. At the end of these artistic portrayals the afflicted soul is always seen jutting their chin up toward the sky, bathing their no longer pale faces in the sunshine and all is right with the world.

Oh shut up. I know I’m being too sensitive, it’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to.

I just wish Hollywood would right a script for me I guess. The handsome scientist might be too much to wish for though. A handsome cattle rancher on an island? That would work, don’t ya think? I can see it now: the two of us and a horse and cow and a dog and some chickens and a colony of cats….oops….sorry about that. I’m back.

Wait a minute? Does a handsome scientist on an isolated island in the shadow of a volcano mean she’s been set free? It doesn’t. It’s an agoraphobics paradise.

Hmph. In that case, thank you Hollywood for making my dreams come true for a change. I think I may have a shot now. Now all I have to do is come up with a successful line of books and start emailing single scientists for answers, I mean single cowboys. Cowboya that own lots and lots of cattle that they would never dream of selling for meat. He wouldn’t be a vegetarian of course, I like men who like protein. But I don’t want to kill our pets. Oh well…maybe we could keep the ones for eatin on another island.

Agoraphobics pleased about election results

I was surprised today when I scanned some other blogs on agoraphoia and found so much combative language about the election results. A lot of hate speech towards Sarah Palin. As someone who finds her a great change to the national political pool, it hurts a little, even on a personal level, to see people say such cruel things about someone I respect and even admire.

Now, you might expect such things coming from the keyboards of pundits and politicians, journalists and political bloggers. But why such mean things said by people who hide in holes? I don't get that. I'll never get that. I'll never understand, and I hope I never do understand how someone like me, who hides behind walls, and typically relies on other people to largely get by, can be so judgmental of anyone else. Especially publically. But I suppose that's not really fair though. I can't understand how anyone can enjoy seeing someone humiliated or debased. I don't get that all.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for free speech and saying it like you feel it, and all those lovely american shout outs we are so proud of. But why be mean? Why is it that the people who are most pleased by seeing someone belittled are people that claim to be "misunderstood"? Ever notice that it's usually the people who claim to be "open-minded" who are the most closed. These are typically the people throwing trash at other people. Yelling things about people who disagree with them at the top of thier lungs and then they stand around corners pointing and saying, "those people are so mean".

Why do people delight in pushing down opinions opposed to their own, then say everyone else is trampling on their rights? I don't get that. Am I that stupid? Vapid, even? Perhaps. I suppose. I can take it.

I'm opposed to abortion. That's it, that's all, nothing more. I don't hate those that are all for abortion. I don't think thier stupid, or daft or uninformed or closed-minded or hate mongers. I see it as the murder of a person unable to even give a dissenting voice. They see it as a right and decision that should be left to the carrier of a cell that could someday, if left in place become another person. I've read the literature, I've heard the arguments and debates, I've seen the images and heard the speeches. Both sides have legitimate points, and both sides have strong feelings on the matter. Very very few on either side are even close to open minded about it. But even here, on such sacred ground, no one ought to be casting stones.

I'm a christian. I believe in God, the Christian God. I don't think athiests or muslims or hindus are less than me. I don't think they are right. They don't think I'm right. Woopdi Fippin Doo! Big Deal! Leave me be, I'll leave you be. So why do all these "tolerant" people keep taking shots at my religion. Sure, okay, the church, christians, muslims, religions in general have done terrible things in the past. Horrible things. But where are the tolerant people when christians are being bashed. It's ok on network television to show pictures of my Savior in all kinds of awful setting, but because someone elses religious icon might evoke violence we won't doing anything "dis-tasteful" there. Why not leave them all alone. Why not just respect each other's beliefs. There is a line that shouldn't be crossed, it's called respect.

Now I understand! I just got it! Duh... tolerance is about being tolerant about things I agree with, but has very little to do with things I disagree with. I am within my "tolerant margin" as long as I'm only intolerant of people who are different from me. I have an open mind as long as I agree with mainstream media, hollywood, and my buddies. I am closed minded if I feel everyone has a right to be different without being painted as an idiot, a robot or brain washed.

Man, I have been such an idiot. To think that I was raised to never, ever bash someone's religion. To think that my parents raised me to respect all walks of faith, even while clinging to my own. To think that my father taught me to respect the political views of others, while always allowing mine to evolve with the age and the relevance of issues. To imagine that my mother taught me to be gentle when approaching differences in opinions, always checking my conscience for comments that might hurt rather than inform. She was so closed minded when she insisted that I remember other's had a right to differing opinions. If only I had known that kindness and respect was a dead end road years ago, perhaps I would be a more open minded and tolerant person today.

To think that today I could be shouting hateful mean things about democrats and waiting impatiently for Obama to fall on his face. I could be organizing a hate speech rally right now to gather all my republican friends for the day the presidential honey moon is over and Obama has to answer questions as a president representing everyone, not just the swooners. Oh I could be having so much fun. There could be invitatins to the party and I could order orderves and party favors...

I voted for McCain and Palin, if you can't taste irony. Before that I voted for Huckabee. Obviously the majority of American's voted for the other guy. And that's just fine. In January of 2009 I will have a new president. His name will be Obama. I will respect him and pray for him and support him as a citizen of this country. I will disagree with him and dissent when I oppose. But I will never say he's not my president. I will never attack him personally. I will never delight when he fails to meet his goals. I will never clack in glee when he makes mistakes or takes our country in a direction I don't agree with. I will NEVER enjoy seeing him, his party, or his supporters get hurt, bashed, attacked or insulted. I will giggle when Jay Leno picks on him and I will probably disagree when he pulls us further away from capitalism. I will also enjoy his success, say a prayer of thanks when he does something that makes me proud to be an american and shout-out in glee if he finds a way to end the war with grace. But to disagree is not to tear down. To debate is not to debase.

I'm going back to my hole now. Carry on...

My Own Judgment to Fall

Any minute now he’s going to wake up. I’ll hear the bathroom door open and close and I’ll know he’s awake and it will start all over again today. He’s completely unaware of the fear, the tears the depression and the anxiety that he evokes. What it is he thinks I can’t even imagine.

There it is. The gentle slam that starts the day.

She went to bed a half an hour ago. She tries to go to bed right before he gets up so that she can avoid as much time with him herself as possible. She thinks her hours are just “screwy” like mine. But I can see her following in my footsteps to avoid him. She spends almost all of her waking hours either waiting on him or listening to him talk about what he’s reading in the bible, or in here with me, avoiding the rest of the house. Because that’s his domain, his to rule and command. She’s completely unaware of what she’s doing. She loves him completely and can never understand why he says and does such things. She tells me she is sorry for him. “He must be suffering so much inside to be like this.” I’ve heard her tell him I needed her so that she could get away from him.

I try to stay silent. I try so hard. But I fail. God will judge me someday. While I’ve never told her I wanted her free of him. She knows I do. She knows I think God is unfair to demand adultery the only escape from an abusive marriage.

Then again, if she had married anyone else, they would have told her to send me to the curb long ago.

For this I wait for my own judgment to fall. I’m not one of these that think the “get out of hell” card is played equally for everyone. I believe while forgiveness may be freely granted, so too will retributions be issued out liberally and without respect to position. No more tears, is not a shampoo for bad behavior in eternity. And, I know there is fault here of my own. But I find perverse pleasure in knowing that just because he’s forgiven doesn’t mean God won’t hold him accountable in the hereafter.

Siphonaptera’s Siphonaptera incommodious

Well, it’s been an intensely stressful and incredibly lonely two days. Who do you call when it tries you right down to your toes? Who’s the 911 for that “biggest fear” panic in your life? When you’ve worked tirelessly to save it all up for your best friend, and that one person goes to the hospital hours away and you don’t accompany them? Well that’s what I’m here to tell you. Guilt is now your new best friend. Guilt is your closest companion. Guilt is actually a closer companion then the one you stand praying over on the front porch as they drive off in an old jeep aimed at a scalpel and a tiny machine intended to shock the most tender heart you’ve ever encountered.


That’s when you start manning the phones. That’s when all the rules about where you draw the lines to the keep the divide between you and the rest of the world good and wide begin to narrow. That’s when pretty words of reassurance, and long winded speeches about propping each other up and clichés of the American way of life hit you right between the eyes, and sink like a lead bullet to the middle of your chest. Your center of gravity, your middle, core, gut, heart. The place where you feel those emotions that you carefully keep off your face and out of your voice. This is where proverbs are no longer cliché’s, but words of divine wisdom meant to give us hope and encouragement.


This is the time when “people like me” curl up with a creamy hot cup of self-loathing and a good long book of circular reasoning.


Answering the telephone and claiming a complete sense of confidence while handing out updates and scheduling changes is an absolute must. Previously established rules on phone answering with codes for acceptable people getting through are thrown out a proverbial window, we can always fall apart later about unintended intrusions, what if it‘s news?!


One calmly passes out prayer requests like Halloween candy. Out of your mouth comes the cheery, “say a prayer for…they have a need”. While the phrase inside your head is something akin to, ‘if you ever had any compassion in your life, you’ll spend the next eight hours confessing every sin, offering every prayer and trading in on good deeds for the sake that my loved one might or might not need divine intervention’.


Due to your “delicate” reputation, everyone will concentrate all of their efforts on diminishing your worry. God knows, the last thing you need is someone accusing you of drama at a time like this.
They will systematically make you feel like Captain Kirk in the drama department. A single, “I’m worried.” is an invitation for the eye-rolling “Don’t be silly.”. the aloof silence, or my personal favorite, “Oh my God! You’re absolutely right! Disaster is just out of reach and by this time tomorrow we’ll be planning a funeral!”. With this last one I can only imagine weather there’s a motive here, or just thoughtlessness.


So I’ve learned, and I imagine most worry warts by a relatively young age, have learned that it’s best to share the fear with just a single person. Therein lies the rub. When it’s that single person who you’re worried about who do you express your worry to? You certainly don’t want to worry that person anymore than they’re already worried. You try to concentrate those conversations on encouragement without making them feel like their fear is unfounded. Cause it is founded.


So, for now, you are the positive one, because you already fell apart and now you are that “someone else“ again. That someone who has eyes and ears and a mouth for making silly sounds that people agree to call language. It’s that gift of gab that allows for that opposable thumb we’re so proud of you know. You balance, “I love you’s.” with, “Everything’s going to be just fine.” The typically polite “good-bye” becomes taboo, foreign, a word no longer part of your vocabulary. It is replaced with “drive safely” and “I’ll see you soon” . Quick pecks on the cheek and “hands on the shoulders/elbows down” hugs become long, prayerful wraps of two armed embraces and the wagging tongue holds still while language devolves to the eyes. Perhaps someday science will find that an animal’s glance conveys vastly superior intelligence when compared to the rigid confinement of the syllable in conveying the true meaning behind our primitive words. The eyes express your final thoughts in private though, where no one can see the depths that are hidden and the welling that longs to brim over. After the coast is clear , they’ll express themselves again when you get that phone call, the one you’ve spent so much time anticipating and dreading. Here human language excels. Here it pushes against its restraints and says all the things someday you’ll wish you’d said before that call, before the appointment, before you ever thought to fear.


Then, if you have any sense at all, you write about it! Because in my experience, if there’s one thing guilty sidekicks with drama complexes are good at, it’s dumping their feelings all over the internet and wondering why they can’t relate to anyone in the real world.


Now as a person who feels a spiritual connection to the ostrich, I sit in no judgment of anyone else’s response to a worry wart’s worry. Especially if said worry wart tends to read something into absolutely every detail of absolutely every conversation. This disorder, and I’m certain they’ve developed a pill for it, so it must be a real disorder, is probably called something like Siphonaptera’s Siphonaptera incommodious, which literally translates: flea‘s flea disorder. Did you know that fleas have fleas? Well they do. I saw it on discovery (insert smiley emoticon here). Anyway, details themselves have details. I think people with this disorder often grow up to be successful political advisors. These are certainly the people we see picking apart speeches and attributing ridiculous motives to every word, phrase, action or inaction for any politician who isn’t on the disordered persons side of the isle. But I digress, as conversationally detail disoriented people tend to do. Hey! That’s good. Let’s call it Conversationally Detailed Disorientation Disorder, or CDDD for short.


Wait, I’ve just forgotten the point I was making. Oh yeah! It sucks when your best friend has surgery on their heart. It sucks even more if you can’t be there for them. And it sucks to the point of being an off-color joke, if there’s no one to share your fear with and no on to hold your hand because you’ve managed to chase everyone else away. And to boot, it’s a whole new level of suckiness when your only outlet is the telephone and you can’t hear a damn thing. BTW: to anyone who thinks I laughed or sounded sympathetic at the wrong moment in the last two days and now finds me insensitive or a really fast talker. That’s because I either didn’t hear you right, my mind filled in the missing words with the wrong thing or I couldn’t understand anything you said. In which case I wasn’t rambling or hogging the conversation, I was just talking really fast so you couldn’t get a word in edgewise that I was destined to miss-hear anyway.


And, if all this isn’t crazy enough for ya, just wait until it sinks in that when I sat down here twenty minutes ago I was gonna write a blog detailing everything from the moment we heard she was going in for surgery, until the moment we heard she was on her way home. But like most people with, the now widely excepted, disorder that is CDDD, I made it all about myself. :-*