Hi, everyone.
My name is Todd, I'm 40, and I'm AvPD. It took quite a while to admit there is something amiss in my head and personality. But after accepting the fact my kid is ADHD, and these disorders are real (after spending years denying their existence) - I set out to find out what my own demon's name is.
I was about as normal as one could get until I was about 11 or 12. Then, social situations started making me anxious and I became increasingly sensitive to any criticism. My schoolwork and grades suffered, and I was always in trouble for not paying attention. It got to the point in the mid-eighties that my dad had me see a child psychologist. After two or three sessions, and my mom telling the receptionist to "get to the bottom of this - we can't afford it", I was curtly told by the "doctor" there was nothing wrong with me but the "poor me's".
Then the sh*t hit the fan. The criticism became nonstop. I grew to loathe myself more and more, all the while growing increasingly anxious over any social situation. I turned to fantasy to escape. Fantasy girl, fantasy job, fantasy life. People loved me in "my own little world", as my father always chided me.
My perceptions grew darker and darker until I thought I was genuinely crazy. I couldn't take the slightest hint of criticism. I hated myself with a passion. Any time I walked down the street, I could feel people watching me, and I was sure they had nothing good to think or say about me. My basic speech is an arduous task, to get the simplest of stuff out of my mouth. Any relationship I was in ended in misery. I was as critical of her as I was of myself. I couldn't do anything right. I started playing guitar, and had been told how good I was. I didn't believe it, and there was no way I was going to play for anyone. After all, they'd just point out what I was doing wrong and tell me how I sucked.
Then, I started drinking. It actually helped. Not to suggest that to anyone else, but it got me to the point where I no longer cared what anyone thought of me. It also brought all the negative trappings of alcoholism, but I could live with myself. It's not a justification - it's just the truth, and the way it's going to be until I find an effective alternative. It's absolutely a crutch. But, if one has a bum leg - a crutch is called for if I'm ever going to walk.
So, here I am today - in my self-medicating, self-loathing, self-imposed solitude. I've got a third-shift job, to lessen the amount of time I have to be around anyone. I started searching the Web for mental illnesses I might have. I was pretty sure I would need to be locked up and medicated into a drooling stupor. The more I searched, the more I saw none of these illnesses fit me very close. Until I just said "screw it - I'm probably antisocial, and should turn myself in forthwith". But that didn't really fit, either.
That search for antisocial led me to a link to Avoidant. The bells went off, and every symptom was me in spades. Then, I looked into SAD, and how that can be a prelude to AvPD. Also my childhood story to the letter.
Knowing what I have doesn't make it go away. But my demon now has been named. Somehow makes it easier to accept. Blaming anyone won't change anything, either. I mean - what are they going to do, say they're sorry? Take it back? No - so there's no reason to care about it and let it consume any more of my head. It's full enough of self-judgement.
Sorry to make my first post a novel. Contrary to what I'm telling myself this very instant, someone may find it interesting.
My name is Todd, I'm 40, and I'm AvPD. It took quite a while to admit there is something amiss in my head and personality. But after accepting the fact my kid is ADHD, and these disorders are real (after spending years denying their existence) - I set out to find out what my own demon's name is.
I was about as normal as one could get until I was about 11 or 12. Then, social situations started making me anxious and I became increasingly sensitive to any criticism. My schoolwork and grades suffered, and I was always in trouble for not paying attention. It got to the point in the mid-eighties that my dad had me see a child psychologist. After two or three sessions, and my mom telling the receptionist to "get to the bottom of this - we can't afford it", I was curtly told by the "doctor" there was nothing wrong with me but the "poor me's".
Then the sh*t hit the fan. The criticism became nonstop. I grew to loathe myself more and more, all the while growing increasingly anxious over any social situation. I turned to fantasy to escape. Fantasy girl, fantasy job, fantasy life. People loved me in "my own little world", as my father always chided me.
My perceptions grew darker and darker until I thought I was genuinely crazy. I couldn't take the slightest hint of criticism. I hated myself with a passion. Any time I walked down the street, I could feel people watching me, and I was sure they had nothing good to think or say about me. My basic speech is an arduous task, to get the simplest of stuff out of my mouth. Any relationship I was in ended in misery. I was as critical of her as I was of myself. I couldn't do anything right. I started playing guitar, and had been told how good I was. I didn't believe it, and there was no way I was going to play for anyone. After all, they'd just point out what I was doing wrong and tell me how I sucked.
Then, I started drinking. It actually helped. Not to suggest that to anyone else, but it got me to the point where I no longer cared what anyone thought of me. It also brought all the negative trappings of alcoholism, but I could live with myself. It's not a justification - it's just the truth, and the way it's going to be until I find an effective alternative. It's absolutely a crutch. But, if one has a bum leg - a crutch is called for if I'm ever going to walk.
So, here I am today - in my self-medicating, self-loathing, self-imposed solitude. I've got a third-shift job, to lessen the amount of time I have to be around anyone. I started searching the Web for mental illnesses I might have. I was pretty sure I would need to be locked up and medicated into a drooling stupor. The more I searched, the more I saw none of these illnesses fit me very close. Until I just said "screw it - I'm probably antisocial, and should turn myself in forthwith". But that didn't really fit, either.
That search for antisocial led me to a link to Avoidant. The bells went off, and every symptom was me in spades. Then, I looked into SAD, and how that can be a prelude to AvPD. Also my childhood story to the letter.
Knowing what I have doesn't make it go away. But my demon now has been named. Somehow makes it easier to accept. Blaming anyone won't change anything, either. I mean - what are they going to do, say they're sorry? Take it back? No - so there's no reason to care about it and let it consume any more of my head. It's full enough of self-judgement.
Sorry to make my first post a novel. Contrary to what I'm telling myself this very instant, someone may find it interesting.
I'm sure you'll find someone who can relate to your story on these boards as most of the people here are very friendly and understanding IME. 
