Thomasina
Member
I am 44 years old and not diagnosed with anything but the descriptions of apd are descriptions of me, especially from the ages of about 15 to early 20s, during which time I felt unable to speak or function in many situations.
As my fear of becoming a hermit / bag lady / laughing stock seemed almost as bad as my fear of talking, I forced myself to study languages, which was one of the only things I felt good at, though obviously not bing able to speak is something of an inconvenience. I made myself do it so as to force myself into social situations, in the hope I would learn it, though I copped out a bit by choosing the degree course with the least emphasis on speech, doing literary options. I guess the fact that I managed to make myself do it shows that I was less afflicted than some, but daily life was hard, with constant failure/rejection. After a particularly bad rejection episode, I spent most of the last year avoiding spending time with others or myself, so to speak, but qualified on schedule.
Still trying to force myself to interact socially, I took a course in teaching English as a foreign language. It was a grammar-based scheme which fitted me: I could prepare exactly how I was going to interact with students in advance, and only had to venture into free conversation when I wanted. I even got some good feedback as a teacher and started to feel for the first time that I could do a job, and maybe even well. I could use the conversation-making skills I was practising to make conversation in real life too. At the same time I met a man who was attractive and talked a lot, and didn't seem to notice that I was weird. The ideal combination. Slight problem: if he thought I was nice (said my head) then he was an idiot, so there were some respect / self-esteem issues - but he even put up with me shouting at him. Over time I managed to cut it down and find a way to get on better, and we started a family.
I was still finding it hard to make friends - I had the conversation skills, but could only use them if we met up in a situation where I did not have to invite them and they did not have to like me: I would go to playgroups, for instance, but would not meet people outside the playgroup as that would give them the chance to reject me. My husband was OK as he was "family" now and I didn't think he would reject me - he was very expressive of his love. I found it hard to say it back to him, partly as I have a ridiculous fear (doesn't seem ridiculous to me of course!) that I am incapable of feeling love for anyone, even my mother or children. As a result I don't want to look at my feelings too closely, or when I do look into my heart I just see the fear rather than any love, which reinforces my belief. Not sure if that is apd or some other stupid symptom of something else. So for many years this has been the situation: few, not intimate friends and relying on a husband I felt I couldn't show much love.
Sounds kind of miserable, but it actually felt quite OK. Better than being a bag lady or hermit, that's for sure! And people seemed to be taking me seriously. I got the confidence to take a translating exam, and passed with a mark so good that I immediately thought it was set far easier than I had believed (I guess that does not sound strange on this forum :-D). I started working as a translator and had some success: I am now doing a serious job and earning OK money.
I wish I could say that it's a fairy-tale ending and I am progressing strongly but alas, the "expressing your love" thing has come back and bitten me. Last year my husband's mother died, and it made him reassess his life. He doesn't want to hurt me, but he thinks he'll be happier without me. It's been a hard year, as it took him a while to come out with it, and meanwhile his unfriendly behaviour made me think he'd "found me out". Found what out, I honestly don't know, but it all made sense somehow. So I reacted defensively, and as he had no idea that I had any social problems (slight lack of EI perhaps) he just saw me being nasty. In the end I felt desperate enough to reveal after 22 years together that he was my first boyfriend, and all the other details about my inner and social life that I had never told anyone, not even my mother. I was quite afraid that considering the bad atmosphere, he would think I was making it up to get attention / manipulate him (my guilt complex thinks he'd be right of course!)
but amazingly he believed it.
Still I think it is too late, as he doesn't love me any more. I'm facing having to split up and live alone (or with the kids) with basically zero social support. My parents and siblings live on the other side of Europe so I can visit at most once a year. I am a lot stronger now; I am managing to persuade my head that this is not something I deserve, and not proof of my general crapness. But my fight-or-flight feelings are all still there in the background, making it hard to keep nice for the kids. I feel I have no sense of judgement as to what is OK for me to put up with or where I should put my foot down.
So now, after 44 years of thinking I was dealing with it pretty well, and that I was making progress, I am starting to think that I should have got a diagnosis and outside help after all. It didn't help that the Internet hadn't been invented back then - I only found out about apd recently. As I say, no diagnosis, but if the things described there are not normal, then evidently something is not normal about me. Seems like if I'd had the guts to get therapy before, and not just thought I was muddling along OK, then I might not be facing divorce, the ultimate rejection. Maybe anyone who recognises this enough to get to the end of this epic post can learn from my experience!
As my fear of becoming a hermit / bag lady / laughing stock seemed almost as bad as my fear of talking, I forced myself to study languages, which was one of the only things I felt good at, though obviously not bing able to speak is something of an inconvenience. I made myself do it so as to force myself into social situations, in the hope I would learn it, though I copped out a bit by choosing the degree course with the least emphasis on speech, doing literary options. I guess the fact that I managed to make myself do it shows that I was less afflicted than some, but daily life was hard, with constant failure/rejection. After a particularly bad rejection episode, I spent most of the last year avoiding spending time with others or myself, so to speak, but qualified on schedule.
Still trying to force myself to interact socially, I took a course in teaching English as a foreign language. It was a grammar-based scheme which fitted me: I could prepare exactly how I was going to interact with students in advance, and only had to venture into free conversation when I wanted. I even got some good feedback as a teacher and started to feel for the first time that I could do a job, and maybe even well. I could use the conversation-making skills I was practising to make conversation in real life too. At the same time I met a man who was attractive and talked a lot, and didn't seem to notice that I was weird. The ideal combination. Slight problem: if he thought I was nice (said my head) then he was an idiot, so there were some respect / self-esteem issues - but he even put up with me shouting at him. Over time I managed to cut it down and find a way to get on better, and we started a family.
I was still finding it hard to make friends - I had the conversation skills, but could only use them if we met up in a situation where I did not have to invite them and they did not have to like me: I would go to playgroups, for instance, but would not meet people outside the playgroup as that would give them the chance to reject me. My husband was OK as he was "family" now and I didn't think he would reject me - he was very expressive of his love. I found it hard to say it back to him, partly as I have a ridiculous fear (doesn't seem ridiculous to me of course!) that I am incapable of feeling love for anyone, even my mother or children. As a result I don't want to look at my feelings too closely, or when I do look into my heart I just see the fear rather than any love, which reinforces my belief. Not sure if that is apd or some other stupid symptom of something else. So for many years this has been the situation: few, not intimate friends and relying on a husband I felt I couldn't show much love.
Sounds kind of miserable, but it actually felt quite OK. Better than being a bag lady or hermit, that's for sure! And people seemed to be taking me seriously. I got the confidence to take a translating exam, and passed with a mark so good that I immediately thought it was set far easier than I had believed (I guess that does not sound strange on this forum :-D). I started working as a translator and had some success: I am now doing a serious job and earning OK money.
I wish I could say that it's a fairy-tale ending and I am progressing strongly but alas, the "expressing your love" thing has come back and bitten me. Last year my husband's mother died, and it made him reassess his life. He doesn't want to hurt me, but he thinks he'll be happier without me. It's been a hard year, as it took him a while to come out with it, and meanwhile his unfriendly behaviour made me think he'd "found me out". Found what out, I honestly don't know, but it all made sense somehow. So I reacted defensively, and as he had no idea that I had any social problems (slight lack of EI perhaps) he just saw me being nasty. In the end I felt desperate enough to reveal after 22 years together that he was my first boyfriend, and all the other details about my inner and social life that I had never told anyone, not even my mother. I was quite afraid that considering the bad atmosphere, he would think I was making it up to get attention / manipulate him (my guilt complex thinks he'd be right of course!)
but amazingly he believed it.
Still I think it is too late, as he doesn't love me any more. I'm facing having to split up and live alone (or with the kids) with basically zero social support. My parents and siblings live on the other side of Europe so I can visit at most once a year. I am a lot stronger now; I am managing to persuade my head that this is not something I deserve, and not proof of my general crapness. But my fight-or-flight feelings are all still there in the background, making it hard to keep nice for the kids. I feel I have no sense of judgement as to what is OK for me to put up with or where I should put my foot down.
So now, after 44 years of thinking I was dealing with it pretty well, and that I was making progress, I am starting to think that I should have got a diagnosis and outside help after all. It didn't help that the Internet hadn't been invented back then - I only found out about apd recently. As I say, no diagnosis, but if the things described there are not normal, then evidently something is not normal about me. Seems like if I'd had the guts to get therapy before, and not just thought I was muddling along OK, then I might not be facing divorce, the ultimate rejection. Maybe anyone who recognises this enough to get to the end of this epic post can learn from my experience!
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