#existential torment

It haunts me.

Each failed attempt to reintegrate - every time you were a little too bold or let your guard down a little too soon - justifies and perpetuates the (real or imagined) inadequacy that others us from the rest of the group. Trauma knows better, why didn't you listen to it? Why would this time be any different?

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If you're wondering if there's a name for this, the answer is yes. Rejection-sensitive dysphoria (or RSD) is characteristic of neurotypes that commonly experience social rejection at a young age, fine-tuning our perception of exactly that to a painfully counterproductive degree.

In previous posts, I've talked about how growing up undiagnosed is permeated by a constant feeling of being in the wrong - RSD kindly provides a "better safe than sorry" approach to the fallout of whatever it is we've said or done this time.3

It should come as no surprise that developing self-compassion (arguably our greatest asset in caring for our mental health) is a rather grueling task for this subgroup of society. After all, compassion isn't that readily offered to us, especially the kind that comes from a place of understanding.

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Coming out of isolation signals the end of a metamorphosis that, if we've managed to unlearn a bit of fearful perfectionism, may involve having a few new boundaries in place, perhaps a pinky promise with yourself to do whatever it takes to show up authentically in some way.

This is where the cognitive dissonance comes in, because now that you're going out and talking to people again, there is a raging battle going on in your head. Inside of you there are four wolves:

- one that's determined to find some genuine connection and is ready to meet people halfway;

- one that would rather pretend to be a papillon than risk ever getting hurt again;

- one that is convinced you are entirely undeserving of anyone's time and should go rot in a hole;

- and one that's angry at having to isolate, angry at having to do the work, and very fucking angry at having to wheedle your way back into people's lives for the sake of your stupid mental health.

Overthinking minute interactions is difficult to avoid when you've done nothing but think for the foreseeable past, and now you've got all these built-up feelings grappling with each other while you're trying to remember how socialising works.

Also, people are generally more well-meaning than they are frank, and if you're not tuned into the non-verbal gestures station you are at quite the disadvantage in determining what sort of impression of you people are left with, something that scares me more than I'd like to admit.

Still, what can a girl do but try?

Whether we've given up on it or not, connection is our north star in this whole mess or a journey. We cannot ignore the pull to be seen (even those of us who hate being perceived) for who we are.

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1 Terminology side note: when I say "trauma", I'm using the clinical definition.

2 Great read. Turns out that isolating really puts you in touch with your own mortality (and I thought I was just being extra).