Less A Trick and More A Treat

So the infamous Detroit Street party came and went this past weekend. I had gone into the party with some nerves—as is my way—but for the most part the night felt like a smashing success for everyone involved. Between Joy managing a way to show up, Lolly and I both well turned out as a ‘Devil in A Blue Dress’ and a ‘Sex Librarian’ respectively, and Kirby and Wynona somehow pulling off a cute couple costume after their original idea fell through last minute—it just felt like everyone was in the zone.

Now this is my favorite party of the year as well as my favorite holiday, but it is not without its drawbacks. I am almost always forced to deal with two of my worst phobias by the pure nature of the event. Part of it is my social anxiety and part of it is my own personal anxiety and both take turns duking it out in my subconscious. I usually feel like I piss off someone at the party with my ADD behavior but it’s because of my social phobia which forces me to keep moving like some type of society shark—stop moving and it will be social death—with the end result being that someone usually feels snubbed or me feeling unconnected to anyone.

But fortunately that didn’t really happen this year--at least not that I was aware of—and everyone seemed pretty pleased with themselves. I managed to dance and drink and pose and party with pretty much everyone I knew and I didn’t feel like I missed out on much of anything. (Though I did miss my friends who weren’t there; like the girls in Mexico and my boys Nolan, Dominic and Shannon. But it is never a perfect guest list. Le sigh) I felt like I had managed to overcome my social anxiety but my personal anxiety was still nipping at my edges.

See, the one thing I hate most in the world is having my picture taken and obviously this is a huge part of not only the party, but Halloween itself. Every year I try to get with the program; I smile in pictures and pose without compliant even though in the back of my head I am screaming at myself. Because I rarely ever like the way I look in pictures, ever, but to not take pictures would be even more difficult because then I have to explain myself and then get made fun of for being so vain or silly or whatever term is thrown at me.

The thing is—I wish I could make people feel the way I do when faced with a camera. Because it is not a simple ‘I don’t want to look bad’ but it is so much more than that simple a statement. Every issue I have ever had about my body and myself gets revisited, relived, and reviled for the briefest of seconds—I see every flaw I have ever had in that moment, hear every time my eating habits have been questioned or prodded, feel my hands pinch and poked every inch of fat, and taste the bile from my years of purging and binging. It’s like the flash that happens when an alcoholic walks in a bar or a former smoker drifts through a cloud of nicotine—that sudden moment of craving just tears back into you. Even after all my years away from that behavior and yet the mere sight of a camera forces me to revisit that part of my past.

And the only thing harder than the moments posing and smiling and just letting the camera happen is seeing the actual photographs taken. Because until I see the photographs, I just imagine the worst case scenario replayed in my head a million times. And when I do finally get the dreaded email or link or see the phrase ‘new pictures added’ my stomach drops and my breath is bated until I can be alone to scan through each and every shot. And while I used to pick for flaws I now have learned to pick for the misconception—what do I see and what do I feel. How much of what I see in my mind’s eye matches what I see in the mirror which matches what I see in photographs—how far off am I? And even though I am years away from how bad it used to be—I know better how to cope than ever before—it still comes crashing back in bits and pieces.

So I was a bit worried about seeing the pictures from the party but braced to deal with it in a hopeful yet stoic manner. But imagine my surprise when I liked EVERY picture I saw that night. I’m not talking about some pictures or liking pictures only after I cropped them to get out the ‘bad stuff’ but just liking, adoring, loving every picture I saw of my self from that night. This is unheard of and made me believe the following three things; that I have learned how to pose properly in photos, that my workout routine has really paid off and that I might actually be a rather attractive individual who has learned to stop being so critical all of the time. It’s even possible all three things might be true.

I’m not sure what it means but it makes me very happy—much more than I could believe possible.