I'm just not good at it. I just cannot seem to get the whole Socialization of Humans thing quite right. This isn't for lack of trying. As a child, I maintained friendships that I still want to have today. This is likely the reason why I associate with far more animals, than people as a general rule. That's not to say, I'm a hermit, although it's been brought up that my home-nest is pretty much all I live in, at any given time. I should cross-post this into My Doctor Is Killing Me, the blog I write for health advocacy. The reason for a lifetime of sole-ness has been directly related to illness, and for many kids today, they may be going through what I had to as a target of Colitis.
Colitis is a fancy word for "bum from hell". I'm keeping it clean here, butt wasn't. (See, the bad puns that I come up with, harping on stuff like this?) From the age of seven until I was well into my teens, I had to answer to a higher power: my toilet. Some people have happy anxiety responses- like butterflies in the belly. I had miners who enjoyed digging deeper into whatever it was somewhere in the back of my adrenalin responders, who rather than leaving for a lunch break, enjoying a beer or something, would stampede anywhere, and everywhere I had a sense of new. New People? Where's the girl's room? School, camp, family, or any unexpected visit to or from someone-- it ran (so many puns), my world until I was 23.
Right before my 23rd birthday, I was returning to college after a time in the United States Navy, (nothing surprising relating to THAT), right when I was misdiagnosed with Crones, then petit-mal epilepsy, but somehow never anxiety disorders. My Harvard Medical psychiatrist suggested I try the Mind Body Clinic that was having a trial run at the Deaconess Hospital in Boston. There I was in a shrink's office, because the medical world couldn't understand my condition, (way familiar if you read the other blog), and rather than watching him determine then the core of my issues, once again, my panic would undergo a new location.
Those were the days when I would arrive hours before I had to be anywhere. It's hard to go places with people when you're the one who needs all of the special treatment. I arrived at the Mind Body Clinic after my classes down the road, and about three hours early. That gave me enough time to scout where the bathrooms were, where the exits, emergency exits, and cafeterias were. Anyone who has a disorder relating to fear, and lavatory needs, well, that is what we do. (Even Pearl Jam's Mike "mad fingers" McCready knows of this, first hand, and as a spokesperson for Crone's.) I have a love-hate relationship with how I regained my life.
The work of Mind over Body response is brilliant, and as much as anyone can talk themselves into believing things, we can train ourselves away from it as well. That is something I learned. But there is a sense of belonging to the world that escaped me even here. My way to diffuse my fear is with humor. I was put in a group setting, (fear 1), with strangers, (fear 2), going through something I didn't understand at the time, (fear 3), and I didn't know if it would work at all, (doozy of a 4). We each introduced ourselves, but when it was my turn, I made a pun, as stated up in the start of this blog, and was told by the leader, quoting, as it still stings to think a professional would do such a thing to someone dealing with panic attacks, he said I should "shut up, no one needs to laugh here". There it was, I couldn't even belong in a group of people afraid of people. Wow.
I took him aside after the program and told him that what he said- pointing out me, and none of the other participants or their issues- that made me never want to go there, nor trust him again. I never went back. But I did read up, and with a psychologist, again from Harvard, I worked through the program alone. I never had a case of the "gimme the bathroom" again, except for one time, during a very bad night, during a very bad marriage.
But Belonging is a safe place. If we don't feel like we are part of something, we end up creating something to be a part of, whether that be extended family, organizations, "Breakfast Club" style outcasts, whatever it is that rings true for us, it is likely to ring true for someone else, and therein lies the safe state of belonging. As a child, I would invent my personal "talk show", ala Mike Douglas, or Merv Griffin. I would be the host, and sometimes the guest. When I walked to or from school, this was a script in my head, and it gave a sense of being somewhere I needed to be, and where I was wanted. Other kids had make-believe friends, or siblings to rattle on about. I stuck in my "when I grow UP!" world.
The entire time my stomach decided my social engagements, I didn't really make friends. I had people I liked to see, and spend time with, but I never really left the world of books, or music. I was safe there. There wasn't any one trigger, and I never knew when my life would be under the rule of the Tidy-Bowl Man. (tm) For awhile, the only safe place was on my bicycle, but kids stole that. For another time, the only safe place was with my dog, but a car stole that. The more I wanted to be "normal" the less I belonged anywhere. This left me with a lot of very adult feelings, at a very young age. I was fiercely independent. While my peers were into rollerskating, I was learning Bob Dylan tunes on my guitar. When they were into drugs, I was into Thoreau. It was my drug- reading.
In graduate school, I made my first real friendships since childhood. Two women in the dance school and I hit it off so well, we were inseparable. Here were two other art people, two other music and movement lovers. When that went well, I added more friends. That went well. I now have hundreds of friends all over the world, whom I consider "safe", and whom I feel a sense of belonging. I may have only moments with them, sometimes between years, but there is a sense of my life and world belonging.
What makes this so important to us? Why is Belonging such a deep vein of humanity? I lost nearly every photograph I have ever had of friends because they were kept with my mother figure- and when she died, her home, without my knowledge, was sold and razed. There isn't a visual reminder of my worlds anymore. That was stolen from me as the dog, and bike had been. As I type, I think of the antique stores I visited around New England, and the dozens of photographs I would peer into, hoping to see familiarity. Someday someone may be in those stores looking at photos of me and friends I have and lost, and wonder what I was like, or who those people were to me, and why they were lost to me. How can anyone sell their memories to strangers? I wonder if all of us who lose our past in photographs find the same questions to answer.
No one likes a stereotype. No one likes labels. But sometimes they help unite. I'm an Atheist. (I do capitalize it, by the way, and I don't need to cap any god stuff, because it's just silly.) I'm Irish, French, Italian, and an American Mutt. I love art, comics, animation, animals, and that's not even the first part of the first list of things I love. But I find that there are always people who love the same things, hate the same things. I will never align myself to a political party as I find that voting for parties rather than people ruins the point of the election. I do vote. I'm a Veteran. I've got graduate degrees, one in Music, one in Film. I'm a wife. I'm a haus frau, in fact. I am a writer, and a singer. Sometimes I'm a songwriter/singer. I don't find the word Liberal to be a filthy slur, and I ride that word for all its worth most days. Titles do nothing. But, they do imply a place of belonging.
We want to be worthy. We want to be someone worth remembering. We want to be heard. We want to be understood. We want to be in control of our lives. All of this is basic humanity. We may feel like we're the only person in the entire planet that is exactly like us, and that is so deeply wrong. It's wrong. My ideals are someone else's. My words and comprehension are certainly those of someone else. There isn't a single person on this planet that has absolutely NOTHING in common with another person on the planet. That's why life works so well. That's why we belong. That's what makes life interesting. That's why it's important to be caring of one another. The stranger we meet may be the one who gets us completely. One flicker of recognition in the eye of someone else can be life changing. It is the mind over body response, in its basest form. No matter who you are, what you are dealing with, what you are hoping to overcome, what you somehow endure- you are here, and there is someone else who will understand you. The bigger the internet, the smaller the world. It's the best time to belong. Somewhere.
Colitis is a fancy word for "bum from hell". I'm keeping it clean here, butt wasn't. (See, the bad puns that I come up with, harping on stuff like this?) From the age of seven until I was well into my teens, I had to answer to a higher power: my toilet. Some people have happy anxiety responses- like butterflies in the belly. I had miners who enjoyed digging deeper into whatever it was somewhere in the back of my adrenalin responders, who rather than leaving for a lunch break, enjoying a beer or something, would stampede anywhere, and everywhere I had a sense of new. New People? Where's the girl's room? School, camp, family, or any unexpected visit to or from someone-- it ran (so many puns), my world until I was 23.
Right before my 23rd birthday, I was returning to college after a time in the United States Navy, (nothing surprising relating to THAT), right when I was misdiagnosed with Crones, then petit-mal epilepsy, but somehow never anxiety disorders. My Harvard Medical psychiatrist suggested I try the Mind Body Clinic that was having a trial run at the Deaconess Hospital in Boston. There I was in a shrink's office, because the medical world couldn't understand my condition, (way familiar if you read the other blog), and rather than watching him determine then the core of my issues, once again, my panic would undergo a new location.
Those were the days when I would arrive hours before I had to be anywhere. It's hard to go places with people when you're the one who needs all of the special treatment. I arrived at the Mind Body Clinic after my classes down the road, and about three hours early. That gave me enough time to scout where the bathrooms were, where the exits, emergency exits, and cafeterias were. Anyone who has a disorder relating to fear, and lavatory needs, well, that is what we do. (Even Pearl Jam's Mike "mad fingers" McCready knows of this, first hand, and as a spokesperson for Crone's.) I have a love-hate relationship with how I regained my life.
I took him aside after the program and told him that what he said- pointing out me, and none of the other participants or their issues- that made me never want to go there, nor trust him again. I never went back. But I did read up, and with a psychologist, again from Harvard, I worked through the program alone. I never had a case of the "gimme the bathroom" again, except for one time, during a very bad night, during a very bad marriage.
But Belonging is a safe place. If we don't feel like we are part of something, we end up creating something to be a part of, whether that be extended family, organizations, "Breakfast Club" style outcasts, whatever it is that rings true for us, it is likely to ring true for someone else, and therein lies the safe state of belonging. As a child, I would invent my personal "talk show", ala Mike Douglas, or Merv Griffin. I would be the host, and sometimes the guest. When I walked to or from school, this was a script in my head, and it gave a sense of being somewhere I needed to be, and where I was wanted. Other kids had make-believe friends, or siblings to rattle on about. I stuck in my "when I grow UP!" world.
The entire time my stomach decided my social engagements, I didn't really make friends. I had people I liked to see, and spend time with, but I never really left the world of books, or music. I was safe there. There wasn't any one trigger, and I never knew when my life would be under the rule of the Tidy-Bowl Man. (tm) For awhile, the only safe place was on my bicycle, but kids stole that. For another time, the only safe place was with my dog, but a car stole that. The more I wanted to be "normal" the less I belonged anywhere. This left me with a lot of very adult feelings, at a very young age. I was fiercely independent. While my peers were into rollerskating, I was learning Bob Dylan tunes on my guitar. When they were into drugs, I was into Thoreau. It was my drug- reading.
In graduate school, I made my first real friendships since childhood. Two women in the dance school and I hit it off so well, we were inseparable. Here were two other art people, two other music and movement lovers. When that went well, I added more friends. That went well. I now have hundreds of friends all over the world, whom I consider "safe", and whom I feel a sense of belonging. I may have only moments with them, sometimes between years, but there is a sense of my life and world belonging.
No one likes a stereotype. No one likes labels. But sometimes they help unite. I'm an Atheist. (I do capitalize it, by the way, and I don't need to cap any god stuff, because it's just silly.) I'm Irish, French, Italian, and an American Mutt. I love art, comics, animation, animals, and that's not even the first part of the first list of things I love. But I find that there are always people who love the same things, hate the same things. I will never align myself to a political party as I find that voting for parties rather than people ruins the point of the election. I do vote. I'm a Veteran. I've got graduate degrees, one in Music, one in Film. I'm a wife. I'm a haus frau, in fact. I am a writer, and a singer. Sometimes I'm a songwriter/singer. I don't find the word Liberal to be a filthy slur, and I ride that word for all its worth most days. Titles do nothing. But, they do imply a place of belonging.
We want to be worthy. We want to be someone worth remembering. We want to be heard. We want to be understood. We want to be in control of our lives. All of this is basic humanity. We may feel like we're the only person in the entire planet that is exactly like us, and that is so deeply wrong. It's wrong. My ideals are someone else's. My words and comprehension are certainly those of someone else. There isn't a single person on this planet that has absolutely NOTHING in common with another person on the planet. That's why life works so well. That's why we belong. That's what makes life interesting. That's why it's important to be caring of one another. The stranger we meet may be the one who gets us completely. One flicker of recognition in the eye of someone else can be life changing. It is the mind over body response, in its basest form. No matter who you are, what you are dealing with, what you are hoping to overcome, what you somehow endure- you are here, and there is someone else who will understand you. The bigger the internet, the smaller the world. It's the best time to belong. Somewhere.
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