Phones scare me.It's funny to see it written out like that. It's true, though. I can't hear voices on the phone; I can hear noises, but since there is no visual component to go along with the sounds, I can't understand what the other person is saying right away. I can listen but I can't *hear* the personality and presence of the other person. I also seem to be expected to be able to identify other people's voices on the phone, a task which is, generally, impossible for me. I can identify people if they say something I'm used to them saying, or if they give me some context for their call, but otherwise voices on the phone are unrecognizable.
I am always guarded on the phone. When I'm talking on the phone at work, I'm always taking notes while the other person is talking, as I understand what's coming in my ears. Otherwise, I will forget, it will all be gone as soon as I hang up the phone and think, who was that I was just talking to?
I can't hear myself speak on the phone, either. My voice seems to fall into the phone without reverberating in my head on the way out. I have been told that I generally act appropriately on the phone; at least, nobody has ever noted that I was "strange" on the phone. So I must be making the appropriate noises at the appropriate moments.
Whenever someone says that they'll call me, my stomach clenches in anticipatory dread. When I have to call someone, I generally spend a couple of minutes beforehand going over the information I want to communicate. I *never* call up anyone just to talk. People do that to me and it's a baffling, troubling phenomenon. Somewhere down deep I just don't get the idea of calling just to hear someone's voice. It's never something I think of when I'm alone.
I have Caller ID so I can always see who's on the phone before I pick it up. It helps with the expectation that I'll be able to identify people on the phone, and if I don't recognize the name or the number, I won't pick up the phone. I like phone messages; phone messages distill what might otherwise be a fifteen-minute conversation down into a minute of information.
It's all about phone avoidance. Email's also all about phone avoidance. Email's like the phone, except that I can save it and look at it later and make sure I heard whatever the other person was saying correctly.
Of course, I'm writing about this because my troubles started this morning with a mention of the phone.After a bad night spent in turbulent thoughts and even more turbulent dreams, I woke too early to the sound of the cats doing laps around the house, up and down the stairs.
After a shower, it was clear that my day had started out pretty badly and wasn't going to get much better from there. I logged in, and Chris made the mistake of asking me how the war goes after having mentioned that he wanted to talk to me on the phone tonight. I froze. The fear rushed up at me. I drowned it with rage.
And I started telling him how the war goes. Mostly incidental stuff, some of it having to do with some comments that were made to me yesterday, but mostly having to do with this sense I have that something involving him is heading straight for a cliff. I hate being fucking Cassandra but that, it seems, is the role I've been given. To be able to see so clearly a future I cannot articulate is mind-numbingly frustrating. Usually, I just keep my mouth shut about it, and shrug helplessly when what I've seen comes to pass, responsible for it because I did nothing. This morning, it all came spilling out. This morning, I couldn't stand the thought of being responsible, of seeing this happen.
And, of course, that's only the greenery on the volcano. Incidental stuff. An easy target.
The truth is that after months of living in crisis mode, I'm relaxing—and crashing. Unable for months to do the downtime and internal maintenance on myself that I really need and holding the damage back by force of will, the least little thing now is able to puncture my balloon. The least little thing makes me want to run for the hills.
I recognize defense mechanisms I thought years gone. I recognize confusions and contradictions I resolved long ago—the craving for affection and attention, and the paralyzing fear of the same. Touch burning like fire. Emotional object inconstancy haunts me; the inability to believe that anyone still loves me when I cannot see them.
And the desperate longing to push everyone away from me, tell them whatever they need to hear in order to satisfy their hidden urges to walk away. Wanting to retreat into my chrysalis and emerge as something different, something new.
Wanting it to be the summer of 1998 again.
Wanting to find my way out of this trap I've made for myself.
Seeing no way out.
Yeah, I'll be fine. This, too, shall pass.What I really ought to do is put myself into quarantine so this doesn't affect anyone else, so I can dive down, hit bottom, break apart into millions of tiny pieces, and slowly put myself back together again.
Unfortunately, I have this feeling that the people in my life would be upset if they didn't see me for three months.
I've done this before, and it gets worse before it gets better. But it does get better, eventually.
I'm holding on to the "eventually" for all I'm worth, at the moment. It's my comfort, right now.
