River: It's not like that at all

[mdlbear]

Over the last couple of days I've thought a little more about addiction and embarrassment, and realized that I've been wrong about them for years (though in different ways).

For years I've been saying that I have an addictive personality. I've been addicted to reading, Usenet news, a couple of solitaire-type games, and now LJ. Programming and writing belong on the list, too: when I'm deep in a project the rest of the world goes away, the same as it does when I'm reading.

That's the key realization: the rest of the world goes away. These are all activities that I do in a light trance state: intensely focussed and unaware of either my surroundings or myself. More like Zen meditation than drugged stupor -- alcohol addiction has no attraction for me at all; I'll happily drink enough to be relaxed, but hate the fuzzy-mindedness that comes from drinking too much.

In addition, the things I've been most "addicted" to, usenet and LJ, are both things that connect me with other people. I think I have to add deep, one-on-one conversation here as well. Not a real addiction, then, but something else. I'm not sure what.

 

It's the same with my social phobia: I don't think it's anything like what I thought it was. My aversion to embarrassment is so intense that I've learned ways to avoid any situation where I might possibly be embarrassed. I've been seriously embarassed only a handful of times that I remember (though I may have suppressed more of those memories). More recently the few times I've been forced into potentially embarassing situations haven't been so bad. I seem to have few limits on what I'll talk about, and many of those are things I think might embarrass somebody else.

My aversion to embarrassment is almost entirely due to observation of other people in embarrassing situations. It's empathy, then. I find this deeply weird.

Comments

[acelightning.livejournal.com]

I was somewhat of a touch-telepath in my youth, so I was pretty choosy about who I hugged and who I allowed to hug me. I had also developed an ability to suppress almost all emotional reactions - this was, among other things, an instinctive attempt to shield myself from the emotions of people around me. Somewhere about 1966 or '67, the "encounter group" phenomenon hit the college I was attending. I couldn't afford the fee to participate, and I was more than a little dubious about the whole concept, but most of my hippie friends enthusiastically spent an entire weekend hugging, doing "trust exercises", crying, giving each other back rubs, laughing, and hugging some more. Everyone who had participated came out of it seeming much more together, happier, calmer, almost wearing a glow. I admitted that I envied them a little bit. Shortly thereafter, a bunch of my friends were discussing their experiences around me, and then - taking turns speaking to me, almost as if they'd rehearsed it, except they obviously hadn't - they said that, because I hadn't been able to participate, they'd bring the experience to me.

We didn't have a whole weekend for this, but on the other hand, there weren't as many people involved. To make a long story very short, I was given a rather compressed version of the process, including lots and lots of hugging, singly and in groups. A lot of things, almost all positive, happened to me then, but for now, suffice it to say that it was a watershed experience for me. And I've been a lot more generous with my hugs ever since.