For almost as long as I can remember, I have had a random disaster tape playing in my head. The scenery and characters change, but the plot is relentlessly the same. This is how it goes ...
I enter a room, and I have to know EXACTLY where every person or animal is. I have to know where the exits and entrances are, and I immediately take note of how I would exit quickly if I needed to. I notice places that a person might hide or where a weapon or object might be concealed. I notice anything (and I do mean ANYTHING) that could be used as a weapon against me. I size up every living thing and assign it to a "friend" or "foe" category, but I am aware that "friend" can be a very fleeting designation. Honestly, very few people make it into the "friend" category in my disaster tape. As I move around, or anyone else moves through the room, I constantly re-assess all of the above. My throat gets dry, my hands sweat, my heart jumps in my chest, and I am so nerve-wired that I am surprised my hair does not spark and ignite. I do the disaster tape continuously and constantly, even if it looks like I am shopping, or visiting a friend, or eating in a restaurant, or cooking dinner. There is no time off from this set of tasks. Ever. There is never ANYTHING I do that does not involve a disaster tape of some sort, even if it is an activity I enjoy, with people I trust. If I do not do these things, and do them well, bad stuff will happen. Not only will bad stuff happen, but it will be my fault because I did not do the disaster tape well enough.
You see, in my past, bad stuff DID happen. A lot. And I could not stop it.
It is emotionally and mentally exhausting to live this way, and I have been living this way for 48 years now -- since I was about 7.
So, the cost of this is that I do not relax easily, I do not de-stress easily, I do not "vacation" easily, and I do not sleep easily. The only place I can be even a little relaxed is in my own home.
Sometimes, my disaster tape is playing very faintly in the background of my life. Even I barely notice it sometimes. I might just have to have "extra" emergency supplies in my car or my purse to feel like everything is okay. (You need pliers, duct tape, needles, a flashlight, bandaids, an emergency whistle or clean water? They are all in my car or my purse. Every day.) I might just need to sit or stand near the door. Even my family might not be aware my disaster tape is playing. This would be a "good" day for me.
Sometimes, I am so consumed by my disaster tape and the need to figure out my safety zone that I can do little else. That is a "bad" day.
I can go from feeling "safe" to "unsafe" in the blink of an eye, and sometimes even I do not see it coming. Sometimes I do not even know what triggered the change from "safe" to "unsafe".
I have had to come to grips with the fact that some things, I just cannot do. Ever. I can't sleep in a room with strangers (bad stuff happened at night). I cannot be in total darkness (ditto). I cannot be in a situation without an identified exit or safe place. I hate to be touched by strangers (no pedicure or massage for me). I cannot stand loud noises or loud voices. I abhor surprises.
I have learned over time to willfully tone down my disaster tape somewhat, so that I can be an effective employee, a hopefully not too annoying wife, and a functional mother. The effort of blocking my disaster tape for an extended period of time is so, so exhausting.
Very few people know this about me. I believe that others probably think me standoff-ish or unfriendly sometimes, or perhaps awkwardly shy. I am pretty sure that they are not aware that I am paralyzed with fear, trying to figure out whether "fight" or "flight" is more appropriate right then, and how quickly I could do one or both. Part of the legacy that spawned the disaster tape in the first place also made me nearly mute about it. It was drilled into me for years to not talk, to not reveal, to not draw attention, to not let others get close to me, to not trust anyone.
I wonder sometimes what people would think if I publicly revealed all of this about myself. Would they be horrified? Would they not want to deal with it and me? Would they be sympathetic? Would I find others who also go through this on a constant basis? I think I would feel better about myself if I knew this was not my unique problem. Misery loving company, I guess.
