The Man Hater

MCS is isolating, as we all know. Besides the need to self-protect 24/7 and besides the constant irritability that comes with each toxic exposure, I prefer my solitude. People just drive me nuts. I have no patience for them.

However, this year I have decided I need to be less reclusive. I need to meet new people, make new friends, form alliances, and find support. This is my New Year's Resolution and I'm doing a darn good job at putting myself out there, attempting to be less isolated, and being more friendly. However, believe me when I say, it's been a challenge.

Lately I've become talkative to anyone who will listen. I force myself. How else am I to meet new people if I don't expose myself? No engagement and I am invisible. My victims are the grocery store people, the librarians, the postal workers, people on the street. It's difficult for me. It somehow feels like a violation of privacy which is a clear indication of how reclusive I've become. I'm still not friendly with my neighbors. One step at a time.

So...When my postal guy said, "I know someone who is just like you."

My first question was, "What do you mean like me?" (I really need to check my apprehension if I want to meet new people.)

"Chemically sensitive." Really? Out in the middle of no where? On the edge of civilization? Someone who is chemically sensitive? Unbelievable. (I really need to check my skepticism.)

He asked if I was willing to share my email address and he'd deliver it. (He's a great postal guy!) He told me the Man goes to his church. Church-going didn't sound like chemical sensitivity to me.  Hmmm...My apprehension and skepticism was raging. Do I listen to my instincts or venture forth for some risk-taking people encounters?

I asked, "Is the Man weird? I mean is he going to stalk me or kill me or create so much stress my life would end up in the sewer?"

Postal guy didn't think so, but he informed me the Man is an artist. Oh! OK. I'm intrigued. A new artist friend would be good, someone who would not poison me if indeed he is really chemically sensitive.

I waited for about a month, but never received an email. I thought maybe the Man decided it was not a good idea and I was fine with that because I was having second thoughts myself. I like no stress in my life. I like feeling safe. The next time I saw the postal guy I ask if he gave the Man my email. He said yes he did, and he would check. The next day I received a note card in my mailbox addressed to my first name with the address added in another person's handwriting. His note was very cryptic. Or maybe he just wasn't good at writing notes? What does, "I feel for you in this new year" mean exactly? Hmmm...my instincts flared.

I emailed the Man. Much of his writing was incomprehensible, but he seemed pleasant, and I was determined to find myself a new fragrance-free artist friend so I threw all caution to the wind. We shared how we became chemically sensitive. The Man was poisoned in an industry job. I wondered if the Man had some brain damage which made writing (thinking) (spelling) difficult. We agreed to meet at a local park on Sunday morning. I worried. Is he weird? Will he stink? Oh god, this is a bad idea!

So Sunday morning I drive to the park chanting, "Be brave. Take a risk." I could see someone sitting at a picnic table halfway across the park. Is it the Man? Why is he sitting so far away? I walked toward him. He's all splayed out on the picnic bench leaning back against the picnic table, arms wide across the table, legs apart, nose stuck up in the air, refusing to look toward me. I kept wondering if his unfriendly, arrogant, self-righteous demeanor was just because he was nervous. I was nervous. I don't like meeting new people. There is always too much at stake. He had to have seen me approach him, but he refused to look at me. I walked right up to him and asked, "Are you the Man?"

He responded without hesitation, but still refusing to look at me, "Sometimes I'm not sure."

I yelled, probably louder than necessary, but feeling pissed off at his apathetic attitude and rude insensitive inconsideration. "ARE YOU THE MAN OR NOT?!" Am I wrong to have expected him to get up off his ass and at least attempt to meet me half way through the park rather than have me grovel for his attention?

He jerked to attention, finally looking at me, and stuttered, "Oh, oh, yes, I am the Man."

I sat. We talked. It was friendly. He didn't stink. We discussed MCS. I asked him if he was following any health protocols or reading any books. No, he doesn't read because he's far to busy with life. Really? His arrogance was nauseating. I suggested a dietary plan since he was having so many bad allergy symptoms. He talked about himself constantly and he kept lying to me. About everything. I have a really good sense for lying especially when the liar keeps contradicting himself. He kept repeating how honest, respectful and moral he is. I wondered why he feels he must sell me on his honesty? After a while I started excusing myself to leave, but he'd keep stopping me with another question. Eventually I got up, said good-bye, and started walking away. He yelled after me, "OK. Now what is next?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do we do next?"

I told him, "Now we go home and the next time we email we'll say 'Hello friend, how are you?'" He seemed perturbed. Clearly he wasn't interested in just a friendship, but he wasn't taking my subtle hints and he obviously misinterpreted my emails that explained my friendship goals. I felt sick to my stomach. I probably should have again explained our relationship right there, but truthfully, I didn't think he would take it well and thought an email might be safer.

As expected, the next email he went off on how it would have been a perfect date if we had a picnic. Clearly, the Man was looking for a love connection. I made it clear this was not a date nor a love connection, but only a friendship. He became defensive. He blamed it on society for making people not appreciate his honesty. Whoa. I wrote back to him told him it was ridiculous to be defensive after he so highly values honesty and I was being honest, but more importantly, if our relationship expectations are different, then this will not work. He seemed to accept that, but then he decided he needed to send me a lengthy list of facts about himself. I thought it strange how much I know about him and how little he knows about me. He hardly asked me any questions about myself.

He began emailing me continuously with a play-by-play of his daily activities, more lies, and more justification for his perfect behavior. We argued about everything especially our impending relationship.

Since I was busy with my own life, I couldn't respond to every email. The Man emailed again stating I was going to support him with his health issues and told me he would do the diet but he expected me to supervise and pick at him to death.  Clearly he was under the impression this was my responsibility as a woman and his most-excellent new friend.

He informed me, "We've known each other for five hours."

My instincts were screaming RUN! HIDE! Amidst the feelings of suffocation and stress, like the good, well-trained man-pleasing woman I am from a generation long, long ago, I tried to second guess his intentions and his motivation. I thought about giving him excuses and blaming myself for not being more patient, understanding, and compliant. Should I be more forgiving? He's chemically sensitive, after all. Then I questioned as a reclusive, chemically sensitive person if I am the same: emotionally needy, high maintenance, demanding, and self-centered with a tendency for pathological bullshitting in hopes of manipulating someone into liking me. Is that me? Maybe? Damn, I hope not. Does he deserve my unconditionally devoted attention after five hours of talking about himself?

After lecturing him on gender roles and the archaic expectations of men in a male dominant society, I told him he was too high maintenance and he needed to find a woman who was willing to give him undivided attention. Although I didn't say this, I figured he goes to a Christian church. There must be a whole harem of subservient women there he can pick from.

He wrote eight emails in the next two hours with each email getting more hostile than the last. He whined about his inability to make a friend in the last fifteen years, then about all the losses he's had to endure as a chemical sensitive person and I have just damage him with yet another loss, then demanding a definition of friendship, then blaming society for not liking how honest he is. Am I that socially inept, manipulative and controlling? I didn't respond to him. I was afraid of what I might say.

I've been in fear the postman will give the Man my last name and my address. He might show up at my door one day. <Shiver> This is why I like being reclusive. I don't like people. Really.

Leave me alone.

I find most older male humans to be man-babies. They expect women to cater to their every need, support them unconditionally, to cook and clean for them, to shop and organize their lives. I know this is the way society has trained them as well as the effects of hormonal changes that make them mushy. The dutiful expectation for a woman is compromise, compromise, compromise. This man-baby encounter has made me ponder why my youthful self was trained to catering to the needs of men that in a society that gifts them control and power: my behavior on dates, my subservience during relationships, and my views of gender roles and marriage. I can look back now on the marriages I have witnessed and don't even wonder why I've never wanted to be "institutionalized" as Cher once referred the state of matrimony. It takes a certain kind of woman to be married. With age comes wisdom and I've pretty much discovered I'm not that kind of woman.

You'd think with feminism we would have grown out of these gender roles, but I don't think so. I met a man a couple years ago who all he wanted to do was to talk about himself and have me talk about him. He also bragged about having a whole stable of women who were catering to his every whim. I backed away from that really fast.

In addition to outdated gender roles, the older I get the more aware I've become of gender inequities. I'm watching the men in my life retire early with a bank load of money from doing menial jobs that didn't require a college education. My highly educated women friends are not retiring early. Why not?  And I've become more aware of the difference in the way society perceives and treats older men vs. women. Older men are distinguished and experienced; older women are hysterical and ugly. I supposed menopause symptoms play a role in this perception.

Last but not least, with age comes health issues. I don't want to be anyone's nurse maid. It's one thing to meet a man when one is young, grow with him, invest in a life with him, then take care of each other as the two of you grow older together, but it's completely different to meet men when they are already old, sick, and needy. I'm not finding anything attractive about it. And I cannot even imagine imposing my own health issues on another person.

I think I've become a Man Hater! Well, in reality, I've never gotten along with manipulative, controlling man-babies with entitlement issues.

I'm a Groupie

In my quest for connection, I have started joining groups in hopes of meeting new people and getting involved with various communities of like-minded individuals. Besides chemical exposures, another risk is I'd be exposed to is stupidity which could raise my irritability to new heights.

My first foray was the local resistance group, a politically-motivated community who's goals are to change the world. A friend of mine suggested this group because they are so liberal, and liberals are often more aware of the world in which they live so they might be fragrance-free.  About thirty people convened. Many I had met in various situations around the area. Most seemed really nice. Some were intolerable.

My first encounter was a woman demanding my phone number. When I told her I didn't have one she exclaimed loudly and rudely, "Well then how do you expect anyone to be able to contact you in an emergency?" Whoa. She sounded exasperated at my non-compliance. An emergency? A little demanding for not knowing me at all. I volunteered my email and later discovered without my permission she added it to an email list. My email started getting flooded with political discussions. I was NOT happy.

In another conversation a social-butterflying name-dropping busy-body asked why I was there and I said I'm hoping to meet like-minded people and get involved. She asked where I lived. She started naming off names in hopes we had mutual friends. I didn't have the heart to tell her I am a reclusive people-hater who has no friends, but after the fifth name, she became indignant looking at me like I was a psychopath. Maybe she's right, but I still hadn't become irritable so I think her judgment was a little premature.

The sitting arrangement was around tables and as I sat facing the speakers, those on the opposite sides of the tables were facing me. I watched people roll their eyes during talks. It was very rude. Some talked incessantly to their friends across the table rather than graciously and respectfully listen. It was all I could do not to scream. One of the meeting facilitators is a retired teacher and he eventually got in front of everyone and told them to shut the fuck up while others are speaking. Ex-teachers hate talkers.

The final straw for me was the anti-gun protest school walkout. There were some rumors students in our area were thinking about walking out, but no one knew for sure. I suggested we need to be at the schools to support any student who walks out. Several people said, no, instead we should wear orange that day for support and if you want to walkout, then walk off your own job. Well, that's it for me. I realized this wasn't a resistance group but a senior citizen social.

The next group I joined was the new art association. The organizers spent the whole meeting demanding membership payment while emphasizing all the money they were spending that they didn't have. Hmmm...I gently tried to suggest NOT spending money and finding alternative ways to finance activities or finding freebies. They weren't having it. In between their money demands the women in charge kept excusing their lack of organization on how "absent-minded" "scatter-brained" "ditzy" and "confused" they were. It just seemed like a bad investment. Several of the women stunk to high heaven. Unfortunately, I came to the conclusion they were not my people.

I took a break from in-person group attempts and in my quest for health care information I started joining online support groups. I haven't had much luck in the past with support groups. My irritability gets the best of me and I have to un-join to survive the anger. I just don't do well with rude people. Unfortunately, these are groups centered around health conditions that cause irritability so other people aren't always in control. I have survived a month now without any online altercations. That's a record for me.

One new member the other day sent a post demanding to know if the group is "pushy" claiming other groups she has joined she has encountered pushy people. Well, OK. After a month I have not at all encountered pushy people on any of the groups. In fact quite the opposite. Most members are very helpful and supportive with loads of experiential information. On occasion someone will complain someone else is judging her lifestyle or diet ("her" is the operative word here), but for the most part everyone is well behaved. However, it's only been a month....

I'm still a member.

UPDATE: A week later I un-joined all the groups. No need to temp fate.

Why?

Question of the Week: Who shoots a classroom of six year old children?

In the media we are seeing all kinds of assumed psychological profiles from mental health professionals trying to make sense of the senseless acts of the twenty year old who murdered a classroom of first graders as well as teachers and staff. They are saying he had a "personality disorder" or he was "mentally ill". And what about the shooter in the theater in Aurora, Colorado? Or the teenage killers at Columbine? Or the numerous other random acts of violence since the 1970s? Mental illness is the all-encompassing, easy answer. As soon as it is said, everyone nods and accepts. It's the "not-like-me" excuse that offers little explanation but gives us some rationality knowing no one in their right mind would do such a thing.

The latest article questioning why addresses all kinds of blame theories: lack of gun control, not enough guns, better options for parents with mentally ill children, media's role glorifying murderers, violence in video games, violence on television and movies, lack of religion in schools. Everyone has a theory:

http://shine.yahoo.com/healthy-living/newtown-connecticut-mass-shootings-blame-192700959.html

All these theories seem to add a different piece to the puzzle pointing to modern society as the culprit. There is only one theory missing and it can only come from someone with first hand experiences with chemical sensitivity.

A few years ago my fourteen year old neighbor committed suicide. I hardly knew him but for months with tears in my eyes I thought about him each day. Everyone in our little community wondered why? Did we miss the signs? Could this have been prevented?

In addition to asking why? I also asked why didn't he shoot anyone else? Why would I even ask such a question? Maybe because I'm an ex-teacher. I've seen rage in the classroom in the faces of the young and I have experiences with students who threaten to bring a gun to school to kill everyone. More importantly, I recognize the epidemic.

You might vaguely remember me mentioning this neighbor boy in my post titled "Chocolate is Evil". He was the one suffering from migraines at ten years old. The day I met him he was home from school and there was a large chocolate cake with bright red and blue frosting on the kitchen counter half eaten. His mother laughed when I suggest she keep chocolate and food colorings out of his diet. What I didn't tell you is I went home after our visit and told a health care professional friend of mine he was showing signs of chemical sensitivity at a very early age. I worried what will happen when he reaches puberty and his hormones, stress levels, and chemical exposures collide creating a volatile mix. I told my friend his mother won't take it seriously until he attempts suicide. This was not said in jest as I know how chemical-laced food and other toxic exposures can mess up a brain, but at the same time, I didn't take my own comment as seriously as I should have. For several years I would see this boy walking down the street looking sullen and angry. I never saw him smiling, looking calm or happy. I wondered.


After he died, everyone wondered WHY? Not me. I wondered why when he got home after his mother forced him to walk two miles to get there as punishment, he walked straight upstairs came back downstairs with his shotgun and shot himself in the head in front of his house for the whole neighborhood to see. I wondered what provokes that kind of self-destructive, public rage? He didn't shoot himself in the seclusion of the garage, the backyard, or in a private room. It wasn't some secret, hidden torment. It screamed RAGE. I wondered if his mother was wearing copious amounts of perfume as she often did. I wondered if he had sugary, chemically-colored cereal for breakfast, drank caffeinated beverages or ate chocolate earlier that day as teenagers so often do without any thought. I wondered why he didn't shoot his mother first and THEN kill himself.


Most MCSers tell me they have brain issues. Exposure to chemicals and their brain reacts badly. Uncontrollable irritability and unfounded anger. Those of us aware of the effects of chemicals know exactly what's causing it even if we can't control it other than exposure avoidance. What about those who have no clue what causes it and have been told they must have a mental illness?  A personality disorder? Depression? Bipolar illness? So many of our diagnosable mental illnesses are misunderstood and lack any reasoning or known cause. No one can say for sure what causes them and those who attempt to point the finger at chemicals are labeled as unconventional quacks.

Many of the chemically sensitive also suffer from respiratory dysfunction, anaphylaxis, and/or other debilitating symptoms. If we weren't stopped in our tracks with a debilitating symptom, how many of us would effortlessly escalate to rage? Is this epidemic of violence due to chemical sensitivity? Are these shooters experiencing uncontrollable, irrational rage due to chemical exposures? I find it interesting the lists of historical random acts of violence start in the 1970s, the beginning of the drug culture and fast food nation. Did shootings at schools, malls and theaters happen before the 1970s?

Modern medicine ignores chemical sensitivity. Instead of finding answers, we are told it's all in our heads.  How many of us are told to seek psychiatric care or have been diagnosed with some kind of mental illness because the doctor was so narrow-minded? I've learned anytime a doctor says "I don't know" the answer is chemicals. So...if we ask why someone would shoot a classroom of children and no one has a valid reason, is the answer...chemicals?

Is mental illness the easy, all-encompassing answer to a much bigger, more deadly problem? Is society being poisoned with the chemicals and rage is the by-product? Are the reasons for random acts of violence and unexplained suicides right in front of our faces? The chemicals we breathe, toxins we touch, and the poisons we eat? If we blame mental illness can we continue as a society to not be responsible for the problem?

Why does a person shoot a classroom of small children?

Fester, Fester, Fester

Anger is exhausting, stressful, and all-consuming negatively affecting one's well-being.

I'm angry a lot. If not angry, then just plain irritable. Anything can set me off: entitled neighbors, disrespectful relatives, inconsiderate friends, and stupid people in general. Mostly people, but I've been known to get angry at nails, plants, rocks, and insects, as well, although less frequently. I once got mad at my van and slammed on its brakes. I'm sure the van learned its lesson.

I know a lot of it has to do with chemicals as I find I am less tolerant of anything if I'm dealing with an exposure. The more deadly the exposure, the more irritable I become. I can't control it. My only remedy is to cloister myself within my house, avoid people, and wait it out. I yell at the walls, pace the floors, chop down the garden, or do some physical labor in the privacy of my self-confinement. Detoxification methods help as they move the toxic load out of my body which alleviates the pressure on my brain. So does diet. When I gave up gluten I had a strange, unnatural wave of contentment wash over me. It's an ongoing battle to squelch the constant, rising emotion of anger on a daily basis.

Prior to chemical sensitivity I was incredibly good-natured, easy-going, and friendly. Getting angry or irritable lasted five minutes and it was over.

Some, however, hold on to their anger and resentment for a lifetime.

Not too long ago I ran into an old friend I hadn't seen since college. We made small talk and did some minor catching up using the people we were with as an audience for our memories. Then out of the blue my old friend assumed a tone of hostility as she began reminiscing about a package she sent to me when I was living in Switzerland. Her voice became very loud as she told us how she couldn't believe back then I wanted her to send me...peanut butter. She laughed sarcastically at how self-centered I was and how the postage on the jar of peanut butter cost three times as much as the actual peanut butter. Her fake laughter contradicted the obvious resentment she felt. She kept yelling repeatedly, "THREE TIMES AS MUCH AS IT COST!" I was embarrassed. I stared in disbelief trying to remember the peanut butter, but only remembering how wonderful her letters and packages made me feel at a time when I was incredibly homesick. She looked at her friend and my friend and yelled, "Can you believe she would do that?" Our friends stared at her as surprised as I was at her hostility.

I asked her, "If it was so expensive and such a hardship, why did you send it?"

She ignored my question and continued to laugh hysterically explaining she had asked me in a letter what I missed most about living in the United States and I had jokingly replied, "Peanut butter." For some reason she felt obligated to send it to me. And it was my fault. My thoughtlessness was to blame. I was shocked this small gesture of kindness I so very much appreciated at the time was a lifetime's source of anger and resentment for her. I had no idea she felt this way. I was amazed she blamed me for it instead of herself. I wonder over those years how often she thought about it and how much anger had built up over time. How did this anger affect her health over the years? I have vague memories of the peanut butter, but her resentment has totally changed my perception of our history together. Maybe she had become chemically sensitive?

We all have experiences in our past we'd like to forget. Some of us dwell on them, others go through years of counseling, and still more forgive, forget and live their lives to the fullest.

Jason Mraz has a song on his new CD Love is a Four Letter Word called "Living in the Moment". It's my new theme song. I love the words:

If this life is one act
Why do we lay all these traps
We put them right in our path
When we just wanna be free
I will not waste my days
Making up all kinds of ways
To worry about all the things
That will not happen to me
So I just let go of what I know I don't know
And I know I only do this by

Chorus:
Living in the moment
Living my life
Easy and breezy
With peace in my mind
I got peace in my heart
Got peace in my soul
Wherever I'm going, I'm already home
I'm living in the moment

I'm letting myself off the hook for things I've done
I let my past go past
And now I'm having more fun
I'm letting go of the thoughts
That do not make me strong
And I believe this way can be the same for everyone
And if I fall asleep
I know you'll be the one who'll always remind me
To live in the moment

(Chorus)

I can't walk through life facing backwards
I have tried
I tried more than once to just make sure
And I was denied the future I'd been searching for
I spun around and hurt no more by 

(Chorus)


Video:

I am rendezvousing with the Mraz Man this weekend and hope to soak up all that positive spirit of his!

I haven't been to a concert in about thirteen years. Wish me luck!

Redefining Friendship

friend \frend\ n  -s  1 a : one that seeks the society or welfare of another whom he [she] holds in affection, respect, or esteem or whose companionship and personality are pleasurable.

friend (frĕnd) n  -s 1. A person who one knows, likes, and trusts.

My father's definition of friendship: "Everyone is your best friend until they fuck you over." So eloquent. Thanks, dad.

Losing people I thought were my friends was probably the most difficult aspect of being chemically sensitive.  We always think true friendship can survive all kinds of trials and tribulations, through thick and thin, good and bad, ups and downs, in sickness and in health. Maybe I was confusing friendship with marriage?  Actually I've seen some ugly marriages and I always thought friendship was on a higher level.

After about a year of being chemically sensitive, all my friends disappeared.  Some moved away, but most refused to give up their perfumes. Their addiction was far more important than many years of friendship.  In some cases, I was a royal pain. Exposing chemically sensitive people to perfumes makes them feel lousy. When people feel lousy, they tend to have less patience and get bitchy. It was a vicious circle. Irritability being a symptom of chemical sensitivity only made matters worse. But aren't real friendships supposed to survive hell or high water? Why were my friends different? Don't they watch the same sitcoms and movies I do? The ones where friends stick by you no matter what?  It forced me to question the meaning of friendship.

In all cases, I became too difficult, too high maintenance.  I always thought being high maintenance was a joke describing a woman who expects people to cater to her every need while she wears too much make-up, big hair, and god-awful clothes . Oh, and very high heels that made it impossible for her to walk fast.

For someone with MCS, high maintenance means you aren't convenient, easy-going, and spontaneous. Instead, you might even be tired, worried, stressed-out, sick, apprehensive, cautious,  impatient, irritable, and reclusive. If you can't work, you might be poor, too. Or need help. Unfortunately, that makes you un-fun on too many levels or...high maintenance.

The Un-Fun Friend

Even the simplest encounters must be planned in detail. For instance, very recently I was asked to go to a movie. I stood there staring like a deer caught in headlights speed-listing in my head all the problems with this normally mundane suggestion:

Where is the theater?

Does it involve driving long distance?

In a smelly car?

Does the car have air fresheners in it?

Does the car stink in general?

Will my friend mind if I drive?

Does my friend use stinky soap?

Does my friend use smelly laundry detergent?

Does the theater pop smelly, fake popcorn?

Microwave stinky, fake nacho cheese?

Is the theater crowded?

Does my friend want to go at night or on the weekend when it will be crowded?

What will happen if I have to leave because it's too smelly?

Suppose I decide to go and suffer exposure?

Suppose the exposure makes me surprisingly bitchy?

Can I afford to be sick for the next week?

Would it be worth the sacrifice of health?

Will my friend get mad if we have to forfeit the cost of the movie ticket?

Will I need to find something else to do if my friend opts to stay?

Will my friend be angry if he/she ends up at the movie alone?

If I ask these questions will I seem too worried? Too paranoid? Too high maintenance?

Do I really want to ask all these questions?

Isn't it just easier if I say no and let my friend find someone less high maintenance?

This definitely isn't low maintenance! Usually it's easier to say, Hmmm, sorry, I've got plans/I gotta work/I don't like Tom Cruise rather than suffer the risk of someone thinking I'm too weird for company.

Friendships are no longer easy and the stress of even trying is often overwhelming. This has made me very leery of people. I second guess their intentions and their capability of being a friend. It takes a lot of stamina to be a friend to someone with MCS. Knowing this, I keep people at a distance because it is sometimes easier not to have friends than to be disappointed.

Most people don't understand chemically sensitivity which makes it worse. It feels like I am fighting with them all the time trying to get them to understand and that in itself is very exhausting and stressful. They forget and show up at my house with perfume on or ask me to smell them to see if their new shampoo will kill me. It's a catch-22. If I don't constantly remind them to be fragrance-free, they'll forget, but if I do remind them, they're going to get tired of me being so damn high maintenance.

In addition, I get really excited when I meet a new, potential friend but the impending disappointment looms over me like a big, black cloud.  When will they decide I'm too difficult? I walk on egg shells for fear I'll be too much trouble and I expect like everyone else, they will decide I am.  I watch what I say because in my life of isolation I wonder if I've lost my social skills or if I might appear too desperate for companionship. The whole process is a pain in the ass and makes me want to stay home with my rabbit. He rarely gives me grief and likes me just the way I am. He is the perfect friend.

Before I wrote this post I looked up the word friend in the dictionary, because truthfully, I wasn't sure what it meant and I was hoping a definition would give me guidance. This is entry number seven from Webster's Third New International Dictionary:  

friend \'frend\ n -s 7 : a troublesome acquaintance : one causing or likely to cause annoyance.

I was wrong. I've got loads of friends!

I AM ANNOYED

In Stieg Larsson's third novel of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo trilogy the heroine wears a t-shirt that says I AM ANNOYED. HA! I laughed aloud. The protagonist, Lisbeth Salander, has made being antisocial an art form and she's not even chemically sensitive!  I love that t-shirt. It's so me. When I looked online I could only find it in bright red. Even that annoyed me.

As a multiple chemical sensitive person, if one of your affected body systems is neurological more than likely you are constantly annoyed caused by chemical exposures inflaming and swelling your brain. Irritability would be the proper medical term. I should know, I check that box on every medical questionnaire I fill out! I prefer the word annoyed as it assumes something outside myself is causing my discomfort. Irritated feels more self-blaming.

Unfortunately, as much as I'd like, I can't wear that t-shirt because I work very hard every minute at being positive and that might be a step in the wrong direction. I should wear a t-shirt that says, "I AM POSITIVE", "I AM PATIENT" or "I AM CHEERFUL", but that would annoy me to the point of insanity. "I AM ANNOYED" is a clear warning to others to stay away.

In an effort to be positive, here is my list of things that DO NOT annoy me:

fragrance-free people

co-workers who are lovely, happy, and delightful

clients and customers who are kind, patient and respectful

commercials advertising public service and environmental awareness

grocery checkers who are friendly

excellent customer service

people who strive to be healthy

organic farmers and gardeners

people who are smart

companies that keep their business in the USA

carnivore-free people

non-hunting people

spam-free emails

men who are smart, respectful, kind and sweet

women who aren't addicted to beauty products

children who are respectful, thoughtful, and well-behaved

non-religious people

my garbage man

That is one short list!  Positive thinking is a work in progress. Annoyance almost always involves people. This is my attempt at a positive attitude before I delve into multiple posts on the very annoying subject of human contact.

What doesn't annoy you?