chandrarueff1961-yasmb

THIS.

This doesn’t happen very often in my world. People don’t ask me, “What is going on with you?” They don’t say, “You just said/did something that didn’t seem like you.” They don’t ask, “Why are you having such a hard time?” They don’t say, “Your depression/anxiety is really hard to deal with sometimes.”

I know. I look at those questions/statements, and they seem harsh. Those would be hard things to say. My youngest brother, the one who is no longer among us, did make one of those statements. After I apologized for yet another mortifying social moment, he said something along the lines of, “Your anxiety really does get in the way sometimes.” It stung, yeah. But it also showed that he got it. He didn’t say, “You do some really embarrassing things sometimes.” He separated me from my anxiety, so he didn’t shame me.

Other people in my family, not so much. What’s really hard about it is that I am going to have to demand respect when I know that I do act badly sometimes. No, what’s really hard about it is admitting that I have these flaws that nobody ever wants to talk about.

I mean, how do you talk to someone in a wheelchair about why they’re in a wheelchair? The one person that I ever talked about the reason he was in the wheelchair was the one who put it right out there to start with. He put the wheelchair front and center. He talked about learning to use his position in the chair and balancing just so to back the wheelchair up the two stairs on the front stoop of his friend’s house, so his friend wouldn’t have to pull him up them. He talked about obstacles and how he overcame them. He talked about the fact that his hands were always inches away from the wheels, which are as dirty as the soles of our shoes. He wasn’t complaining. He just put it out there, matter-of-fact. And I did ask him why he had to use the wheelchair. He was happy to oblige. He actually thanked me for asking. He said that the looks that were attempts at non-looks, the job offers that never came after he knew he’d aced the interview and knew he was qualified, the silence when he struggled to navigate a crowded room – that was hard.

I’m gonna have to channel that brave soul to put it all out there. Matter-of-fact. I know that I say and do things that create awkward moments for other people. I know that I should go to that funeral or that wedding or that party or whatever, but I just can’t get past the fear, the seemingly unreasonable fear – about being there. I will have to talk about how I got through an occasion in spite of the fear. I will have to put my mental illnesses at the center of the conversation. They are selfish, these illnesses, and they make me look selfish when people don’t understand.

Not talking about it is the bigger problem.