It was kind of a tough night for me tonight. I didn’t think it would be, but it hit me harder than I thought it would. I’ll explain this more in a minute. I probably ought to tell you a little something about myself first for those of you that don’t know me very well.
Those of you that do, just sit back and nod and laugh at me.
I know who you are.
I am, for all intents, a cave-dwelling hermit. My living room and bedroom, and office too, for that matter, are all heavily curtained and dark. Even before the wreck and the hip injury, I really didn’t go out except to go to the grocery store or work and that was it.
I don’t go out to concerts or shows, and if I do, it’s going to be to go to Charlie Goodnights or Raleigh Improv because that is really the only thing I enjoy and I’m either going by myself or with my brother. Other than that, my circle of friends is small.
Crowds, and by crowds I mean any group larger than three, cause me great anxiety and I will shut down and hide in a corner.
For those of you who have been to Charlie Goodnights and have gone alone, you know you’re going to end up sharing a very small table with three other people that you don’t know, and yes, that does terrify the living shit out of me, but I can function well enough to get through a comedy show.
I wasn’t always like that and honestly, I’m not exactly sure when it happened. I don’t think there was any one event that triggered it or a particular time period where it reared its ugly head.
In high school and college, you could hardly catch me at home or in my dorm or apartment, unless I was throwing the party there. I remember the infamous “soccer parties” in Boone when I was at Appalachian State. The parties where they had to close King St because that’s where the soccer house was and the parties got so big, they would flow into the street causing the police to have to close the street down.
They didn’t have a chance in hell of shutting the party down. Boone PD was outnumbered several hundred to one, so as long as you stayed in the middle of the crowd somewhere you were safe from the drunk and disorderly tickets that got handed out to the attendees that were unlucky enough to be left on the fringes.
I fuckin’ LOVED that shit, man!
I was IN there, drinking, dancing, meeting all kinds of cool people who I would not remember the next day.
Unless I woke up with them and then the memory was still sketchy at best.
I was the same in the latter part of my high school career as well. I was shy and quiet my freshman and sophomore years but I started to come out of my shell for my junior and senior years. I read the morning announcements over the intercom for the whole school every morning. We did, what was a big deal at the time (1986) a “video yearbook” that myself and the rest of my TV production class worked on all year, and I was the star character in the story we put together for that.
I was co-president of the damn PEP club for chrissakes, and on top of that, I was the lead male role in the musical we did at the end of the year that we worked on all year.
My ass got on stage and sang and danced.
In front of people.
That I didn’t know.
Three nights in a row.
I don’t know where that guy is. I don’t know who he is. I don’t remember anything about how to be him.
I could blame it on 30+ years of some kind of customer service or another that slowly stripped away my faith in humanity bit by bit, but there is more to it than that.
Several different therapists, psychiatrists, psychologists and counselors over the years have kind of helped me put it together.
That kid back in high school and college . . . the happy, outgoing, center of attention grabber . . . was a front. I needed validation and attention. I needed people to tell me I was “cool” and fun to be around.
At home, I was constantly told the opposite. Happy-go-lucky Eric was left on the doorstep when I got home and I entered into the “what did I fuck up today” zone.
That’s a story for another day. I’ve already dropped you into the depression zone so let me stop getting lower before I start to lose readers before I even get them.
Point is, somehow I ended up here. 54 years old, clinically diagnosed with severe depression, anxiety and mild OCD.
Seriously.
I’ve got the prescriptions to prove it.
So if you want to terrify me, say “Hey Eric, I’ve got somebody I want you to meet! You’ll really like him/her!”
I won’t be able to get away from you fast enough.
A very good friend of mine recently invited me to an art show in which a lot of her work was going to be on display. She told me I could come by early before the show started because I had to get to work from there, so I did.
People started to show up anyway, and there I was, with my friend from high school, who was the other co-captain of the pep club, moving me around the room and introducing me to her friends and family and I greeted them politely and exited the conversation as quickly as possible. I haven’t wanted to crawl under a rock that much in a while.
But the show was important to her, and she is important to me, so I sucked it up.
But it leads me to where I am now. Writing, being my therapy and my line of communication to the outside world, so that I am connected to society, I just don’t have to be out there in it.
I know, you’re thinking, “Eric, that first paragraph was about 45 minutes ago and you said you’d tell us why tonight was hard on you ‘in a minute’ so I’d appreciate it if you got to the fucking point because my lunch break ended ten minutes ago.”
I went to my job that I have to leave because of my injuries to turn in my uniforms and coats and stuff, and I wheelchaired my ass around to see all my co-workers and say goodbye and even some of the employees of the company for which I was security guarding? for came to see me.
The two housekeeping ladies that didn’t speak a goddamn word of English came and gave me a hug.
I hugged all my people, left them some things that I couldn’t use for the job any more and hung outside with them for a couple of smokes.
I haven’t had a long, hard, “damn I mean it” hug in a while now, but I got one from my Lieutenant just before I left.
When I got in the car to go home, I just sat there staring out the window, and let the tears roll down my face.
My hermit ass is going to miss those people. They were my world outside the house. They supported me when I had some really rough times. They covered my ass a couple times when they didn’t have to.
They genuinely gave a shit about me and I can’t even get through this sentence without crying.
…..
Sorry. Had to stop for a minute.
I didn’t expect that wave of emotion. I thought I was just gonna drop my shit off and say goodbye to my peeps and run back home and close myself in my office.
Not so much.
So what’s my point?
There isn’t one. This is my therapy, I’m just sharing it with whoever the hell wants to read it out in the land of the interwebs.
Because someone out there knows exactly what I am talking about. In fact, many someones and maybe they don’t know how to write it out, or write a song about it or even have someone they can talk to about it.
Sometimes it’s enough to know you’re not the only one out there.
Someone (other than me) is going to read this and be in tears by the time they get to this point, because if it was me reading this, I would be.
It’s called empathy, and HO. LY. SHIT. does this world we live in need more of it.
I’ve held you captive long enough, and YES I will be writing the funny you’re waiting for REAL soon.
I still sing sometimes, when I am alone in my truck, or alone at home listening to some vinyl while I clean up the house and – well, I’m going to use the term “dance” loosely – bouncing around cleaning to the beat of the music. That’s for me, though. You’ll never see me do it out in public. Not unless I undergo a significant mental change.
Mentally, I have to stop hurting inside, because I do. All. the. fucking. time.
That’s going to take a while, but I’ll share the ride with you if you want.
I’ll leave it at that.
If you want to talk to me about it, but you’d rather not put it publicly in the comments, feel free to email me at:
I’d love to hear from you.
That is a Jonny Depp profile.
I’ve pissed off some women in my time, but not a single one has ever shit my bed, so I got that going for me.