Displaced

Over the past couple of days, I ran into two situations that left me behind singled out again. Both seem to have been caused by major misunderstandings or misinterpretations of what I had intended to say. While I do make a point of always choosing my words as carefully as humanly possible, I seem to come from a place that’s so far removed from where the bulk of people live and think that being misunderstood seems to rule my days. Add some behavioral quirks to this and you have a clear cut recipé for disaster, the latter of which is actually defining my “life” for the time being.

Now, we’ve known of Elain Aron and her fine work about the hypersensitive person for a while. I’d like to call this type of person hypersensory rather than hypersensitive in order to avoid ambiguity. But that’s a minor addition. I think, I do apply for this personality type and she goes on to say that these individuals’ brains process information different from the rest: We take longer and process information deeper than others. In simple words: We don’t have much of a filtering system. I can relate to that and lo and behold, “guilty as charged”, I’d tend to say. However, I’m afraid as for me, this is only a part of the story – the smaller part.

And then there is C-PTSD. And I’ve known this to be the case for me since 2013. I was 48 years of age then and I’ve been living with this thing for all my life until today.

But I don’t want to bore anyone out with yet another sob story. The question I’m trying to ask is this: Could it be that for someone like me – and sooo many others, I’m aware – that our perception got bended so hard we actually can’t get to where other people are? In other words: Have the outcomes of the disorder impacted us so hard that our sense of (healthy) self never had a chance to take root, much less our chances of seeing the world from that (healthy) place? I kind of sense that this is an almost mundane thing to say in light of a burden like C-PTSD, anxiety disorder, possibly even schizophrenia, the list goes on. What I’m saying in simple words is this: For the longest time – actually for as long as I’ve lived – I’ve been feeling as if a glass pane was put between me and the rest of the world. There is connection, yes, but it’s not a visceral one. I don’t actually resonate with people. I do my best to come across as if I did, but inside of me – silence. Confusion, sometimes. Question marks, more question marks and funny placeholders. The silence and void actually scare me, having me think that I’m a freak to end all freaks. I sometimes feel like some of those weird characters horror movies and thrillers are about. Unpleasant, to say the least.

I want to belong, for Chrissake! (and I once did – or – in retrospect – at least came as close as possible). Can it be done? I sooo want it to be possible. It hurts beyond measure to get singled out for something I have no control over. And it’s happend time and time and then some….

If I fail… I hope that these ramblings not only make sense for someone, but that they’ll help to shed light on this brutal, brutal condition and its implications on social (dys)functioning…

(P.S. Some days, I have glimpses of imagination of what my healthy self and a healthy life in its aftermath might look like. I live for those glimpses much in the same way as other people envision their life aspirations and goals, like e.g. that dream house on the hill/island, the vintage car they wanted since childhood, that fancy vacation, the promotion… the list goes on…)

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