“I have some kind of allergy to other people.”

by Emma Atkinson 

The first time I tried to tell a therapist about my life, I was twelve years old. I told him that I couldn’t talk to people. He laughed and said, “I know. Making small talk can be hard. Everyone feels that way.”

He had missed the point so spectacularly that I wanted to cry. I didn’t try to correct him, though. I didn’t have the words for what I was trying to get across to him. I didn’t have the strength to push through the fear that fills my throat like cotton all the damn time.

What I meant to tell him was this: I have some kind of allergy to other people. Get within twenty feet of a human and my face burns, my fingers twitch, my mouth becomes locked and useless. My brain is taken over by the need to watch and monitor. Does this other person look irritated? Angry? Bored? Disgusted?

Any little flicker across their face must be registered, which is greatly hindered by the fact that looking directly at other faces hurts. It’s like a little electric shock in my bones. Information must be acquired covertly, quickly, in little glances. And it must be acquired constantly, until I am finally alone again and can begin the process of reviewing my memories of the encounter. Every possible interpretation needs to be considered. Every mistake I could have possibly made needs to be identified and atoned for.

Here is a secret: at my core, I am not a real person. I think I used to be – maybe when I was a child – but at some point I withered. I became ugly, stupid, selfish, useless. This is what I see reflected in people’s eyes; this is why I cannot look at them. The longer I talk to someone, the greater the risk that they will glimpse the nothingness in me.

I have read that people with my diagnosis of avoidant personality disorder do not feel empathy, that we only care about our own neuroses and no one else. That hurt to read. I love many people. I love them deeply. When I keep my distance, it is for their sake. I want their company, their conversation and their jokes and the comfort of their presence. But I cannot escape the conviction that having me in their lives can only hurt people. I will drain them. I keep my mouth shut, retreat into my apartment, stay far away because I care for them.

I have done years of cognitive behavioral therapy and dialectical behavioral therapy. I have tried almost every SSRI available. In small, practical ways, I have made some progress. I have broken some bad habits. I have learned that I can sometimes talk myself out of an anxiety attack.

The problem with a personality disorder, though, is that to some extent this is who I am. There are some aspects of it that I do not even dislike. I enjoy being able to escape into a different world when I am uncomfortable. I enjoy the stories and characters I have created in some attempt to compensate for the lack of real interaction in my life. And my silence, if nothing else, has taught me how to listen. I am a great listener; not only will I not hog the conversation, I actually relish the chance to listen to others without having to perform too much myself.

So this is where I am now. I am wondering, how much of myself do I need to give up to get better? How much should I focus on adapting to the world as it is? How much should I focus on carving out a corner of the world that suits me instead? How much security am I willing or able to sacrifice to potentially be rewarded with meaningful relationships?

In my wildest dreams, I have a romantic relationship. The two of us are not gorgeous or exciting. We didn’t have to overcome any convoluted circumstances to be together. We are just two people who know one another. We touch each other casually, effortlessly, and it doesn’t hurt at all. We talk because we want to.

This is the mental image that brings me back from giving up completely. This is my greatest ambition in the world.

[Emma Atkinson is a psychology student in Atlanta, Georgia. In her free time she reads (mostly non-fiction), writes poetry, and plays with her cats.]

You can find more information about avoidant personality disorder here and here.

[Image credit: Danielle Blue, via Flickr, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 License.]