Here I am at Panera Bread Co. I’ve just finished my therapy session and I’m waiting for my movie to start. I’m going to the dollar theater to see Gran Torino. I’m just trying to add structure to my day. Depression has a ravenous hold on me, chomping away at me. This is such an effort. Also a torture. All I want to do is find the safety of my living room couch. The bed in and of itself is unsafe.
Panera Bread Co. is packed. I peek out over the top of my screen and see tables filled with people, all laughing and sharing stories, smiling and giggling, nodding heads in agreement, consuming the meal that I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole without being able to purge it. I want the life that they have. I want to be able to go out to eat and consume my meal with no worries. I want to sit at a table that’s filled with people all caring about each other. I want friends.
I have my chance tonight. I am supposed to go out for coffee with Leah after our A.N.A.D. meeting. I’m scared to death. Leah and I were in treatment together last year. Due to my Dissociative Identity Disorder, she knows more about me than I do about her. A couple of meetings ago, she asked me about a project I had been working on. I asked her how she ever knew about that and she told me I told her. I feel she has one up on me. I don’t remember anything about her life and its going to seem rude that she knows about mine but I’m asking her rudimentary questions that I should already know b/c we were in treatment and groups together.
I guess I could brave it for the sake of a new friendship. Friendships have always scared me. I don’t have the energy for them. Having to remember details like does she like pop music or is she a hard core rock fan, does she like Diet Coke or Coke Zero. These little details drive me nuts. It’s embarassing.
And having to come up with conversation and making sure there aren’t any of those awkard lulls where we look around and finally peek at our watches and each sheepishly speak of an early morning so we need to leave. And I’m not ready to offer up my diagnosis to her. She doesn’t know about my D.I.D. and I don’t want her to. I do know she doesn’t have many friends in her life and she finds it hard to make friends as I do. So it’s the perfect scenario. I kind of just want to run from it. But as my favorite affirmation goes: I am willing to risk change for the sake of a new, safe life.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if I want things to change, I have to change.
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