futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- a convincing performance I did what I had to do: Went to the reception, stayed for the appropriate amount of time, talked to an appropriate number of people. The entire event was without incident . . . almost. Almost. There was one thing. One huge, glaring thing. As soon as I walked into the Purnell lobby I felt the old terror coming back. There was that sound that I fear: the rattle of ice in glasses, a babble of voices engaged in bright conversations, the rustling of coats . . . it seemed louder than ever. It was like fire bells, ringing telling me to run, but it was just their voices, just chatter, but awful all the same. I stood paralysed,listing afraid to move or open my mouth or turn neck. I was caught. My heart was beating faster, my throat was tightening up. Call it agoraphobia-- I think I�m just lonely: so lonely I�ve forgotten how to speak. The fear was too much for me. I fled, ran into the stairwell . Put my back on the door. I was relieved to be alone and away from the people closing in on me, and the noise like alien roaring all around me. I felt stupid. (I still do.) I put my head on the wall and tried not to make any noise because I was crying. If this had been all that happened I wouldn�t write about it. No, it got worse. The door opened. Peter (who plays Clove in the play I direct) burst in. He reached for shoulder; said "Hello, Susan!" I turned around: Fuck. I straightened up quickly and started walking but it was too late he must have seen that something was wrong. Even though I can write about this here, where I have all the words I want and can craft them just so, I knew when I looked up that I couldn't possibly explain what was wrong with me. Peter is a good person. There was something innocent about the way he asked if �everything was all right.� As if he really cared and really wanted to know. Since I could hardly speak there was nothing I could do but try to get away. I wouldn't want to talk to him anyway. What would I say? �I�m afraid of people.� I couldn�t say that to him. I sucked up the tears and made and excuse, said I�d be fine, got out of the building. Of all the people! Someone who I wanted to have some sort of respect for me. I can�t be this fragile! I can�t be this way. I went into the old student center and cleaned my face off in the rest room. I knew what I had to do. I had to go back. I had to talk to people. Smile. Get over this. I did it. I stayed, talked to people. I wanted to bolt the entire time but I think it was a convincing performance, some people might have even thought I had a good time! I avoided Peter, naturally. I hope he forgets about it. I hope I forget about it too. 14:16:44 - 2001-01-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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