Bubbly and talkative, while safe, make for great cloaks. When one grows unremitting of repeating the same story, while simultaneously coping with the anxiety of effective defending of self the reality living under the cloak is exposed. The idea of manning up would make my grandfathers proud, but I don’t think they meant for me to follow their footsteps.
I am grateful for the role that my glasses play as long as I remember my wipe cloth. For when I feel the pressure of uncomfortable places I can simply remove my corrective lenses which momentarily blur reality. Though it does not magically make the problem go away, it is much like a response to an ultimatum. Once my glasses are put back on my face I speak to the problem and ask,”So were you talking to me?”
I am grateful for my precious phone, hard to tell by the removal of my protective cover; however, easy access is more important at this juncture. I first announce the fact that I am going to be antisocial at a particular moment, stare at my screen, and its like everyone understands. None of the information that I read is hardwired to my brain during those moments because my senses are heightened to the surroundings that I am attempting to ignore. Oh the pressure! Oh the pressure in my chest
Every initial statement made where all attention, whether an audience of two or two hundred, is preceded by pressure-soon followed by added pressure, and then a response that has been translated into the most acceptable vernacular for the moment. Then somewhere in the flow of my response emerges the feeling of “am I saying too much?” Responses to my responses are far too much to decipher. So with the rubbing of the beard or head, reaching for the inside coat pocket, twisting of the watch or fitbit, and/or reaching for the wipe cloth for the glasses and I am off to the next uncomfortable place.