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Name: Paula
State: NC/USA
Story:
I only have two “trust” settings: All the way, or nothing at all.
I’m a 27 year old woman and I just found out about Avoidant Personality
Disorder on this site. In the past I have seen myself clearly in
descriptions of introverts and social phobics, but AvPD takes the cake, as I
can see myself in six of the seven behavioral patterns listed in the medical
description.
I identified especially strongly with the trait of constantly monitoring
other people’s thoughts and my own internal reactions, detecting the
slightest changes in mannerisms or intonation so that I can understand what
they are thinking, especially what they are thinking of me. Most of the
time I feel dead convinced that my observations and interpretations of their
thoughts are accurate. Unfortunately, my experience dictates that often I’m
proven right about some of the most unpleasant things.
Another trait that made my jaw drop in self-recognition is that I go to
extreme lengths to screen people before trusting them with almost any
knowledge about myself whatsoever (even chit-chat fodder, like what kind of
music I like, sometimes feels way too personal to me). On one occasion when
I briefly tried therapy for depression, I tried to soothe my nerves about
exposing myself to the therapist by writing up a list of questions to ask
him about himself. (This did not go well and resulted in a lot of
embarrassment, and in me quitting therapy.) I observe the way people talk
to others, and if they are too gossipy, or insensitive, or don’t seem very
self-aware, or share too much unpleasant personal information about
themselves, or don’t seem especially kind and intelligent, or in some cases
even if they seem too happy or popular/socially-oriented, I make up my mind
that they are not to be trusted. This isn’t necessarily always a very
conscious process, but it goes very deep. From that point on I don’t feel
like it’s a choice I’m making to avoid them, it’s something that I have no
choice but to do. It’s totally automatic. Consciously I may hold nothing
against them, may feel empathetic toward them, and in some (rare) cases like
them a lot, but deep inside, I’ve determined that they are not safe to reach
out to. (They either wouldn’t “understand” me, or they would feel like I’m
too damaged or defective to be on their “level.”)
I’m grateful that the one behavior I don’t seem to exhibit is number 3,
“shows restraint within intimate relationships because of the fear of being
shamed or ridiculed.” I have had relationships in the past where this
description would have rung true, but I have usually been able to completely
trust one primary friend or companion. Through changing times in life, that
one person has been my sister, a very close friend, or now, my husband.
My relationship with my husband is the best one of my entire life, and
brings me an incredible amount of satisfaction and happiness for someone
like me. I guess I somehow managed this feat by virtue of being “hungry for
close relationships,” as we AvPD people tend to be. Again, though, another
point I have in common is that while I was getting to know my husband, I had
a battery of mental “tests” he needed to pass, to prove that he would love
and accept me unconditionally, and never criticize me, before I felt safe
enough to trust him. But once I do trust someone, I’m very keen that they
know every last little thing about me. I think this is because I have to
continually make sure that there isn’t a single thing about me hidden
anywhere of which the other person will someday disapprove. With a person I
trust completely, if I ever sense a whiff of disapproval (even when I should
know very well it’s insignificant or even nonexistent), I act very defensive
and demand to be exonerated.
On the flip side, when people I don’t trust at all say very rude, invasive,
or critical things, I pass it off as if they are lovely, polite people so I
can skate by without a conflict and without arousing their further interest
in me. I shove down any terrible feelings I might have about the incident
until I can be alone or with my husband, and then I break down about it.
Fear of being “found out”
My worst fear, and really, the root of all my fears, is that people will
sense my awkwardness and alienation. I know intellectually that this is a
self-fulfilling prophecy, but it becomes harder and harder to break the
cycle when I now have a lifetime of stored-up memories of people
“discovering” me in exactly the manner I’ve always feared. My sharpest and
most vivid memories are of these moments. I guess I’ll supply a few
examples.
I had to switch high schools in my sophomore year. I felt really scared and
alone most of the time. But sometimes, especially after six months or so, I
could tell myself that I was finally starting to talk to a few people and
that maybe I didn’t seem so weird. That’s when a teacher approached me
during class, and said in what was supposed to be a quiet voice (but wasn’t)
that he and the rest of the faculty were extremely concerned that I didn’t
seem to be making any friends. That was such an immense blow. I had to
pretend to be grateful and cooperative, when I would have preferred that
he’d punched me in the face rather than say that.
Also in high school I once had the guidance counselor betray my trust. My
grades were so bad, that she got me alone and more or less forced me to tell
her what was wrong with me, so I discussed my miserable feelings, my rocky
relationship with my mother, and my alienation. After a long absence from
school, I returned to discover that my entire class knew of my problems. I
really can’t express my humiliation and dismay, but I’m sure you can
imagine. When I asked the guidance counselor why she had told, she simply
said that my classmates had been concerned about me, as if that explained
everything. I was unable to express to her my outrage, so I’m sure she
never realized how much she had hurt me, or maybe even that she had hurt me
at all. I would have died rather than to trust my classmates with this
information, and I didn’t at ALL feel that they were mature enough (or even
knew me well enough, for that matter), to be genuinely “concerned.” I think
they were curious, and the guidance counselor satisfied their curiosity
because she felt like everyone had a perfect right to know about me, as if I
was insulting good, caring people by preferring to keep it a secret. One
day in the midst of this we had a substitute teacher, and I remember feeling
so relieved and grateful to have this one reprieve from shame – just to have
a substitute teacher who didn’t know about me and my problems. Imagine how
I felt when, after class, the substitute stopped me to compliment me on one
of my previous homework papers, and to mention, by the way, that St. John’s
Wort had helped him out with depression and he recommended it to me for my
depression.
In college, I took an acting class and lost participation points and was
told “It’s like you’re not even here. You always look like you’re a million
miles away.” I also had a chorus teacher in college who was once leading a
discussion about how wonderful it was that people were forming friendships
in her class, and then she looked at me soulfully and announced knowingly to
the entire class that “Paula (not my real name) puts up a wall between
herself and the rest of us.” She evidently thought I was a wallflower who
just needed to be drawn out with a little extra attention. I think she
thought I would be really impressed and grateful for her observation,
instead of emotionally slaughtered. I have to describe it that way because
it’s the only way to get across how ultimate the humiliation was.
The pattern seems to be: I worry and worry about whether people are noticing
that I’m less sociable than everyone else – but I partially succeed in
convincing myself that I’m fine, that people don’t really notice that much,
and that I’m not that strange – and that’s when the boom drops, and someone
calls me out, usually in public, and clearly expects some sort of
explanation. But when that sort of thing happens, I outwardly react
however I imagine a normal person would, and probably do a fairly adequate
job of hiding the off-the-scale intensity of my hurt. In fact, I actually
don’t feel most of the emotion until a later, safer time.
Another time, I lived in a dorm with people I worked with at a summer job.
Someone I considered a new friend said to me, “So I’ve noticed that you’re
the only one on the whole floor that always keeps her door shut. Usually
everyone else leaves their door open.” (I was hideously embarrassed, but
tried to hide it.)
Another time, I had a boyfriend who I was sure wouldn’t like me if he knew
“the real me.” I became more and more quiet and anxious as time went on.
Eventually, but before much time had passed (juuust when I was beginning to
trust him), he actually confessed that he had lost his feelings for me. (I
assume this is because I was boring and had nothing interesting to say, and
because people who project profound insecurity aren’t particularly
alluring.) He later told me that he guessed I was “too different.” When I
said “Everybody’s different,” he said, “But you’re different in a way that’s
different from everyone else.”
Another time, one of my former co-workers said to me (after we started to be
friends), “You’re the only person I’ve ever met in my whole life that I
couldn’t categorize. I have no idea what type you are.” (This was probably
because in addition to volunteering next to no information about myself, I
come across as quiet, stiff, and bland, but if someone overhears me in a
trusting mood or moment, I don’t sound at all like an insecure or shrinking
person. I’m sure that seemed paradoxical to him.)
Possible causes of my AvPD
I think I was born naturally very shy, but I think I would have largely
grown out of it by adulthood if it hadn’t been for my upbringing. At least,
I don’t think I would have let my shyness prevent or ruin so many
potentially positive experiences. My mom was very anxious and
highly-strung. She was overwrought with her own problems and didn’t have
anything left over for parenting. She ignored us as much as she could get
away with, but was excessively critical all the time. Every once in a while
(I don’t know how often, but enough for it to have happened thousands of
times), she would vent out-of-control rage directed at me or at one of my
siblings. I think she was a rage addict, because of how peaceful and
clear-headed she would seem to feel immediately after a horrible rage. I
think a large chunk of my avoidant style came not only from the damage to my
self-esteem caused by rages and criticism, but from always having to be
exquisitely careful never to mention or refer to her abnormal behavior. We
were always walking on eggshells, doing, saying, and avoiding whatever was
necessary to prolong the “calm” before the next “storm.”
During my pubescence and adolescence, when I was most insecure about my
appearance, I remember her constantly criticizing just about every aspect of
my personal appearance and the way I came across, including my posture and
the way I stood. Most painful was how much I could see that my acne, or the
way I plucked my eyebrows, or the clothes I chose to wear bothered her, and
the way she tried to play off her anxiety as sympathy for me, when it was
really embarrassment for herself. I think she viewed me not as a sacred
individual unto myself, but as an appendage of her own hated self.
During some of my teen years, I had no one to talk to other than her. I was
in so much pain from my loneliness that sometimes I had to show how
miserable I was when I was at home, since I couldn’t show it at school. She
sometimes reacted with sympathy and comfort, and sometimes with utter
outrage, and I couldn’t predict which it would be. She would use
confidences I had shared with her when she seemed “nice” against me when she
turned crazy and rageful. But I needed the comfort so badly and I was so
alone that I had to risk it sometimes. She would be very angry at me for
staying at home every weekend instead of being out of her hair, out with
friends. She was so embarrassed about my lack of social activity that she
tried to get me to make friends by screaming at me and shaming me about
it. She told me that the reason I didn’t make friends was that I was
conceited and thought I was better than everyone else. A couple of times
she said, “You think you’re so goddamn special.” Sometimes she would say
that I was “socially retarded.”
The “conceit” theory almost sounded plausible, because I really didn’t think
the people at school had enough intelligence, maturity, or sensitivity for
me to be able to trust them. But I also knew that I felt like I wasn’t good
enough to associate with them, because they were so confident and
care-free. They were developing skills and hobbies, fleshing out their
identities, gaining confidence in their attractiveness to the opposite sex,
and coming into their own. All they had to think about was how to plan their
lives out to their best advantage, and to have fun and enjoy life.
Meanwhile, all I could ever think about was being trapped, miserable, and
alienated. While they were thinking about who they should go to the prom
with, I was worried about whether I would become too depressed to finish
high school at all, and I was past caring about even that.
Even though my mom emotionally abused me, it could be that my dad
contributed just as much to the development of my AvPD. My parents were
divorced and my dad lived sort of far away, but I felt close to him when I
was a little kid. The more I grew up, the more distant and aloof my dad
became. He often made excuses not to visit and eventually the visits
stopped altogether. Sometimes I forget how much it hurt, and over the years
became inured to his aloofness. Even though I have always yearned strongly
for his approval and affection, he has seldom if ever been able to endure a
telephone conversation for more than five minutes. In the past I have
written him long personal letters because I craved so much for him to really
know the real me, so that his love would mean more, but he never responded
to them in kind or even acknowledged them. This left me feeling exposed,
embarrassed, and rejected. The only “safe” topics that he can handle are
the weather, and how things are going at our respective workplaces. But if
it’s about anything personal or emotional, he clamps up and rushes off the
phone. He never wanted to hear about my problems with my mother, or anything
else unpleasant or “depressing.” He is constantly escaping his own acute
depression and can’t tolerate being reminded of his children because I
assume almost everything connected with us reminds him of what he perceives
to be his own failure as a father. He can say “I love you” but he can’t
call me, except on my birthdays and at Christmas. To have any relationship
with him I must constantly pursue him, and prove to him that I will not
threaten his safety by discussing taboo topics, which covers almost
everything.
How I’m doing now, and why I need to get better
I worked through a lot of my growing-up issues and depression on my own and
I think I have as close to full insight on it as I’m likely to ever get. I
started to come out of my severe childhood depression at about age
nineteen. As I moved on and grew up and moved away from home I developed
the ability to be free of depression for several months at a time. And I’ve
never been even close to being as miserable as I was in high school or
junior high. Because I’m intensely introspective I left no stone unturned.
I read many, many books, analyzed the problem for thousands of hours, and
talked about it with people close to me, and still do.
I’m tempted to think of myself as being in the “normal range” or the
“avoidant style” range rather than having the bona fide disorder. After
all, I can interact fairly smoothly with people to obtain goods and
services, and I like to think I’m personable and present myself well, and
seem to be pretty normal to most people I meet. Also, I’m so satisfied with
my marriage, and I feel so little need for any other social connection, that
much of the time, I think I’m pretty happy.
On the other hand, despite these successes, there’s the inconvenient little
detail that I match 6 of the 7 behavioral criteria listed in the medical
description for AvPD. (And, too, I still get depressed if anything
unexpected throws off my momentum, and often feel inferior and lonely
because I don’t maintain friendships…and that’s when life is going very
well. In fact, I’m depressed at the moment.)
The biggest reason that I’ve decided to explore AvPD and possible treatment
is that I’ve known for a while that my personality has directly hindered my
ability to tolerate everyday work situations. It has now happened several
times that I have found a work environment intolerable and wound up
quitting. The longest I have stayed at any job is approximately one year.
And I only stayed that long to prove to myself that I wasn’t an
irresponsible flake.
One of my work problems is fatigue. I know that fatigue is a symptom of
depression, but I wonder if other people with AvPD have also experienced
frequent total exhaustion, especially if working a full-time job. Even when
I have felt that my actual job was going okay, I get the kind of tired you
just can’t recover from overnight, not even over the weekend. I remember
that by the end of the workweek, I felt as if I literally hadn’t slept in
days.
The greatest reason for my inability to cope at work is the energy-draining
social tension I feel. I’ve come to think of my emotional energy and my
physical energy as being the same thing. I spend such an overwhelming
amount of emotional energy analyzing social information that I can’t even
imagine what the equivalent would be in physical energy, but it would sure
as hell be something a lot more strenuous than any exercise I ever do. I do
have a varying degree of stamina that I think depends a little bit on the
particular people around and their personalities. But for the most part, no
matter who my co-workers are, there comes a point at which it hurts me and
saps my life force just to occupy space near them.
I also burn out easily at work because I do my best to give my best work as
much as possible. (That seems obvious, but evidently many people don’t.)
This has often resulted in standing out from the crowd for doing excellent
work (sometimes embarrassing, but also sometimes the only gratifying thing
to happen at work). I don’t take breaks, I don’t relax, I don’t have fun, I
just work as hard as I can – most especially when working hard can get me
out of “small talk.”
The best example of how my personality made me burn out at work was when I
was working in a small enclosed cubicle (doing easy, repetitive computer
work) with three other women. These women found the work boring (which it
was) so they gradually spent more and more of the day engaged in small talk,
and not so small talk, until finally they were spending basically the entire
day talking. Some of them were able to do this and still do their work (and
to this day I have no idea how). Others just slacked off and didn’t care.
Even though their chatter was extremely annoying and distracting for me, I
was more than willing to put up with it. It would take a lot more than that
to drive me crazy.
In the beginning, when each of the four of us was about equally well
acquainted with everyone else, as in, not much, I don’t think I stood out
much. I know how to be pleasant and engage in a little small talk now and
then, several times a day, to be polite and not a freak. But as the other
three jumped on the opportunity to get to know each other (in sordid detail)
as much as possible, and I became more obviously quiet by comparison,
gradually they began to show signs of being uncomfortable in my presence,
and they passive-aggressively (I feel) expressed it by teasing me (often in
the third-person, as if I wasn’t there.) They would drop comments about how
I was “off in my own little world.” The comments became more and more
frequent, and the more tense and embarrassed I got about it, the more quiet
I would be. While at the beginning I felt I talked an acceptable amount,
once I realized they were “figuring me out,” I withdrew, and I had no
reserves of energy to call upon to try to shine it on for them. I had also
begun to resent them for singling me out. I never had a problem with them
all talking and getting to know each other – I wouldn’t have felt “left
out,” at least not nearly to the extent a normal person would. Instead I
felt singled out by their side-comments to me, or to each other, to the
effect that I “never ever talk.” It especially made my heart sink that they
would say this after I felt I had made such an effort to talk more and be
pleasant, as if no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn’t be good enough to
count. One woman who must have been especially uncomfortable about my
(relative) silence and resented it most, toward the end, had taken to making
several comments about it every single day. This was absolute torture to
me.
At the same job, I had also had several people in other departments, people
who I didn’t know or even work with directly (who I rarely if ever would
have had any work-related occasion to speak to), say to me, “You’re so
quiet!!! Why are you so quiet?!”
I found their behavior totally bizarre and unwarranted. I knew that as much
as they wanted it to come across as an innocent, off-hand remark, it was
more serious than that. To this day I still believe that it was their
unconscious way of punishing me for not conforming to their expectations. I
suppose they had no way of knowing how offensive that was to me, but still,
I can’t excuse them -- they presumed that the onus was on me to justify my
existence, to prove I had the “right” to be different.
When I resigned from the job, I just told people that I wanted to go
part-time somewhere, and didn’t fill in any details, which obviously seemed
even more conspicuous and unacceptable to them. One of the ladies from my
cubicle made several well-meant (yet nevertheless embarrassing) comments
like, “What did we do? Whatever it is we did, we’re sorry!” (Any reference
to my aloofness, no matter how oblique, hurts me.)
I am certain that I never came off resentful toward anyone and that I was
never anything but pleasant and polite to everyone. I always responded
nicely to people when spoken to, and never acted like their chatting was
unwelcome. But I’ve learned there is simply no way to hide my AvPD for any
extended length of time, and people will interpret it as they will – usually
not favorably.
I was so unhappy working full time that after work I would break down and
cry every day. I would be so ashamed and embarrassed and feel so
alienated. If the people had been less nosy, and had a little more tact and
self-awareness, things might have been different. But unfortunately, the
truth is that most people are like them, and hardly anybody is like me (us).
Closing thoughts
Many people reading this may think that my assumption that my co-workers
were feeling resentment toward me reflects an irrational distortion because
of my disorder, rather than the reality. While I do support and am a fan of
rooting out cognitive distortions, I still believe these women were very
irked and behaved passive-aggressively. So, if it is a distortion, I doubt
I’ll ever be disabused of the notion, because I’ve learned how accurate my
perceptions can be.
When I was younger, severely depressed and had much lower self-esteem, it
would have been pretty easy to convince me that any of my thoughts and
perceptions were distorted (in part because so many of them were). I went
through a really deep confusion and identity crisis that caused me to doubt
the reliability of anything in my brain. It was surreal. It also left me
vulnerable to manipulation and abuse. I’ve learned through painful trial
and error, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my perceptions of people are
indeed often correct, and that ignoring or discounting these seemingly
extra-sensory perceptions can prove very dangerous. Because in reality,
it’s not “extra-sensory.” It’s just heightened radar that’s based on very
subtle details. Or, in some cases, it’s based on blatantly obvious details.
I hate having a part of my mind that continuously analyzes people and
unfailingly ferrets out their character flaws. I know it exacerbates my own
insecurities, and at times can be unfair to people. But I don’t think
there’s any way to stop it. I also honestly feel that if I didn’t have it
to protect me, I’d be lost at sea. I think I would fall prey to any passing
predator. Indeed, that is what tended to happen to me when I discounted my
alarming perceptions of certain people.
Part of this may be an assertiveness problem. If someone treats me badly,
my fiercely strong, unstoppable defense instinct is to be passive,
submissive, and pleasant. Therefore to even allow untrustworthy persons
into my sphere where they could have any prolonged contact with me would be
like throwing myself to the wolves. They don’t even have to be psychopathic
abusers for this rule to apply. They could just be average people with
average character flaws, and they could still wear me down to nothing just
by being themselves, because I have absolutely no recourse or mechanism of
“righting,” re-orienting, or reassuring myself while interacting with them.
I think part of how other people can “stand” each other is that they present
a distinct, strong identity to each other. They openly declare, “I like and
dislike such and such behavior in others,” without even thinking about what
others will think of such statements (not even others who fall into the
stated disliked categories). They let off steam by teasing each other, by
pretending to be adversarial (i.e. by being passive-aggressive in a socially
acceptable way), by complaining about things that bother them (even if no
one cares to hear it), by expressing passing thoughts out loud, by eliciting
sympathy, by fishing for compliments, by making and laughing at jokes (which
I never think are all that funny), and in other ways. I, on the other
hand, involuntarily expend all the energy I have, just to minimize the
expression of any sort of strong identity. Everything about the way I act
at work is (subconsciously) designed to make people feel not much about me
one way or the other. I don’t want to say or do the slightest little thing
that would make anyone, anywhere feel uncomfortable, or disagree, or clash
with me whatsoever. Surprisingly, I think I’m also pretty averse to the
idea of anyone deciding that they like me too much, so I also try not to be
too interesting, clever, or funny. As a result I often report to my husband
that at work I feel like a robot. I present a totally false image of myself
as someone who is bland, proper, formal, boring, humorless (except to laugh
at others’ jokes), and easy-going to a fault. I suppress my real character,
my real sense of humor, my real cynicism, my passions, my sensitivities, and
my vulnerabilities. (…As well as the fact that people often irritate the
shit out of me.)
To a normal person, casual social activity actually strengthens and
reaffirms their own unique, personal identity. And when they get stroked,
admired, and complimented, it also increases their self-esteem. To an AvPD
person, casual social activity just underscores a feeling of alienation, and
stifles his or her own true identity. It is an effort that is
energy-inefficient and devoid of pay-off.
This may surprise you, but I already know the key to my happiness. It’s
simple, but not easy: I have to be able to not have a job. The other half
of it is already complete: nurturing, unconditionally accepting
companionship. Believe it or not, my husband is damn near perfect. I’m too
discriminating (or maybe too judgmental) to tolerate anyone who isn’t.
My solution may sound glib, but I’m serious. I can be very skeptical as to
the cost-effectiveness of further efforts to re-shape my personality into
society’s mold. I really do think that after a certain amount of working
out issues, learning techniques to manage depression, and improving
self-esteem, sometimes the best course of action is to accept yourself as
you are -- and then to concentrate on structuring and arranging your life so
that you can devote your energies to things and people that really matter to
you, instead of on a bunch of crappy strangers, who, let’s face it, probably
suck anyway. ;-}
--“Paula”
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