I'm reading Mary Karr's Lit and admiring her language and honesty and willingness to subject herself to close scrutiny.
She describes deliberately escalating an argument with her boyfriend, Warren (who would become her husband and ex-husband). "Counterphobic, a shrink once called it, meaning I run fast toward any event I suspect might be excruciating."
Imagine my surprise to learn that there is a name, a diagnosis even, for this behavior that I used to practice.
When I was 20 or so, my father observed while riding in the passenger seat of my car that when I came to a traffic situation that called for caution and speed reduction, my usual response was to accelerate. I wanted to get through it, as quickly as possible. It became a family joke that I would step on the literal or metaphorical gas in many situations, speeding through them, my only goal being to get to the other side.
My motto: if this is going to be painful, let's get it over with. Now. I may have appeared bold and brave, but really I was terrified. I jumped out of planes and rode motorcycles because I knew I would do both eventually. I chose sooner over later. I ended friendships when they became difficult. I accelerated through rough passages in relationships into marriages and, in hindsight, inevitable divorces.
Maybe I've had enough wrecks and enough near-misses to cure my counterphobia. I can better bear the silence that comes with slowing down, endure the gradual working out of relationships, wait out the process of decision.
