Maybe I'm not like most people, but maybe I am. There are some people who revel in their own misery; they live for it, they breathe for it. Those messy-eyed artists with their dying selves and cheap cigarettes enjoy nothing more than their own self-loathing. Too-thin girls pinch their waning bodies with that treasured feeling of disgust. But not me, I hate feeling this way. Its just easier to be like this, so I don't have to try so hard.
I'm just deathly scared of pleasure, or pain, or embarrassment.
They noticed a problem in about kindergarten, when the teachers and classmates tried to throw me a birthday party. My mom brought in little cupcakes that she made herself, blue and green frosting and rainbow sprinkles. The whole class made me a card, each child placing their signature on the bottom of the yellow construction paper in various types of magic marker. Any other kid would have jumped for joy, hugged their mom, ate the cupcakes. I peed myself, crying and trembling, rushing into the corner of my cubby and refusing to come out. Because I was scared – because I was blushing.
There were so many misdiagnoses, so many mispercieved issues. They thought it was a social anxiety disorder, maybe a fear of public speaking, maybe selective mustism (I rarely talked or laughed), maybe hedonophobia (fear of pleasure, which is a part of it), maybe major depressive disorder. But then, after test upon test upon psychologist's office, they were only able to come up with a single and sound answer; erythophobia.
Fear of blushing, plain and simple. Of all of the lame phobias to have, God picks that out of his bag of tricks and awards it to me. Blushing – you must think I'm kidding, right? But its so much more than that; I'm scared to laugh, or be happy, or be touched, or be loved. It strikes me with panic when I think of someone else giving me something, or making me smile. Its also just my luck that my face turns red at the slightest jog, the faintest hint of embarrassment, the thought of something dirty. Maybe it sounds crazy, but this guilt and fear seizes me; everyone must be watching me - they think I'm so girly, I'm such a fucking freak. I can't – I won't.
Its driven me to isolation, a small face in the back of the class, the unsmiling and forever silent child. They've tried everything, from medication to DBT therapy, to mindfulness practices, to hypnosis. The whole thing for me has grown into a social phobia, even a fear of pleasure, a fear of teenagers, a fear of the world. My doctor and therapist try pretty hard though, and I can't really whine about it.
Its worked fairly well, to the point where I can do a few things, but not much else. They've told me to take pleasure in simple things, because its okay to have a flush in your cheeks. It doesn't feel okay though, when you're stuck in a high school full of people who stare, and gossip, and hit, and have vials of evil shoved down their throats. They know I'm gay the second the red hits my cheeks. They know I'm weak, they know I'm small; all of my insecurities fall plainly onto my face. The only thing that makes me sick inside is falling in love, or thinking of sex. Twice the shame fills my veins when I think about it with boys – because really, that is all I've ever wanted.
But they're beginning to expect more from me, and they're on the end of their ropes. That feeling of dread on holidays, the constant shaking, the horrible nausea … its only reduced to a certain degree; they want more, they need more, they expect more from me. There's one thing they haven't tried; exposure therapy.
Sometimes I wish that I could be a little less honest with my doctor, Maureen, but she has this crazy way of making me tell the truth. She owns a lie detector, and she loves to use it – I didn't even think that was legal, but sure enough, with my mom's consent and a paper for 'medical research', I became a little lab rat to her. I love Dr. M, don't get me wrong, but I wish she'd let me lie sometimes, maybe just cut me a small break. But last week I was shaking so hard and blushing so furiously at Mikey's house that I had to find a quick exit out of the window and back to my house, which made my mom all worried and brought me straight here. And I don't want to tell her, but the red light is flashing, and she knows I'm lying, so I have to tell her;
