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Name: A Life Taken
State: California
story:
I'm 55.
I believe that my potential for a fulfilling life was taken from me between
the ages of 4 and 14 or so, mainly by my peers, inadvertently aided and
abetted by my mother and father. I learned about the existence of AvPD only
about 5 years ago.
I always considered myself "shy." A prominent member of the academic
community once described me as "unprepossessing."
I became very depressed in 1999, after having made a disastrous decision
about my future, which in retrospect I can see to have been the logical
outcome of a life lived with this disability. By 1999 I was working in a
field I wasn't familiar with, in a business environment I didn't agree with,
for a bully of a boss, with nowhere to go but sideways. When I broke down,
crying, during a routine visit to my physician, we both knew that I needed
help. It took me about 6 months to find the gumption to call the names on
the list of mental health practitioners my doctor had given me. And I saw
the same psychotherapist, usually once a week, for more than 7 years.
About 5 years ago, I was Google-ing "shyness" and I came across some links
to the origins of shyness. One of the articles pointed out that those
suffering Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder exhibited shyness. I thought,
"Hey, maybe all of those brutalizing experiences I endured in my youth acted
like a kind of a trauma, like in a war, and that's why I'm shy." So, I dug a
little deeper and discovered that I didn't fit any of the other diagnostic
criteria for PTSD. A little deflated, I searched on, and came across the
literature on AvPD. Like the rest of you, most likely, I experienced an
"A-hah!" moment that day, as I read down the list of traits, etiology, etc.
of AvPD. There I was, on web page after web page. This web site is one of
the first I came to. I scored off the scale on any personality test I took.
Today, I'm working in an entry-level administrative position with little
need for interpersonal contact, happy in my own office two floors below my
supervisor's. I am virtually autonomous, despite my lowly place on the
administrative hierarchy. Those conditions are very suitable for me, as is
the fact that I never have to worry whether or not I can perform the duties
of the job (something which has always lurked in my head, and which is the
primary reason I procrastinate). The worst part of my job is a relatively
small part, but it involves virtual strangers from whom I must obtain
compliance with some bothersome bureaucratic requirements.
I'm in a 14-year marriage with a 12-year-old daughter. My wife doesn't "get
it," having come from a family background whereby mental illness was
considered a weakness and shrinks, along with lawyers, had no business on
this earth. My spouse once asked me "How come other people can have lousy
childhoods and just get on with their lives?" Despite the anger and profound
disappointment of hearing her say that, I replied, "Do you think there's
some kind of generic "lousy childhood" that everyone who's unlucky enough
had to go through?" Then I asked her a few questions, hoping to show her in
what way my "lousy childhood" might have differed from others of which she
was aware. First was, "When you were in elementary school, was there a kid
or two that everybody made fun of, who was shunned and bullied year in and
year out, at school and in the neighborhood?" "Yes," she said. "Was that kid
you, or anyone you knew or chose to know?" "No." "Well, I was that kid!" I
thought, for a moment, that I'd succeeded. But it was only a transitory
victory. Her next question was, "How long does it take to get over it?" When
I told her most of us don't "get over it," her eyes kind of glazed over. I
am clearly too weak for her liking.
My daughter, people tell me, is just acting like any pre-teen adolescent, in
treating me like a pariah, and lashing out with every word of indignation
she spits my way when I attempt to explain anything to her, or suggest that
she might do one of her chores, etc. A "normal" person might be able to
shrug it off, and, secure in the belief that she loves me, and that she'll
outgrow it, I am diminished by every word and act that even mimics
rejection. It's killing me. It was bad enough when I had one enemy to my
mental health at home--my wife; it's perilous now.
It feels as if I haven't said anything explicit about AvPD in this post.
Mostly I've said what I feel, as one who suffers from it. If this is the
first thing you read as you come to discover your membership in our elite
club, please keep reading. You'll no doubt find more descriptions of
yourself in the professional and personal writings of others, if you don't
quite see yourself here.
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