Unintentional Isolation

By Kay Ebeling

Sometimes I forget.  I'll want to get involved so I'll go to a local political meeting. I'll begin to make friends, volunteer to be on a committee. I'll write my name and contact information on an index card and turn it in, and from that moment on, my human interaction begins to end. Oh, they look at the card, at me, they usually say of course we'll call you soon, or email you tomorrow.

But they go home and do a Google search, as anyone would in today's world. With all that information out there about people you meet, why not find out who they are before you have them in your living room hearing your political plans. 

They Google my name and see who I am, then they never call or write that email telling me about their next meeting.  

I wait. I hope my phone will ring, I check every few hours for the email. 

Then I realize, of course, they Googled my name.

I'll never hear from them now, and they'll pretend they don’t know me if they see me.

They're not going to want me around their children, their families, their anything.

All the lies that were told about me, of course people believe what they read in the media.

So I'm better off just hiding here.

*

I've been in this lakeside resort town now for almost five years. When I first arrived, I was running away from devious bad guys. I chose this place because at six thousand feet, they'd have to make a real commitment to come after me. Still at first they did.

Soon after moving here, I made the mistake of putting a status update on Facebook telling people I'd found a PTSD support group and where it was and that I was going that afternoon. 

Then when I checked in, the receptionist acted strange when she saw my sign in name. They suddenly replaced the facilitator, and the guy who came in to run the group glared at me, and in the entire 90 minutes of the session, he would not let me say a word.  At one point I started to talk, I thought it was finally my turn, and I was going to share why I had PTSD.  He jumped in, and turned the meeting over to another guy who then talked nonstop for the entire rest of the meeting, and that guy didn't even seem to really have PTSD.

So I realized I hadn’t gotten far enough away, they were not going to leave me alone.
*

I see a notice in the paper that a non profit is in need of volunteers, so I fill out the application.

They never contact me.  They don’t want me handing out food to the homeless, they don’t want me possibly interacting with their children so never take me up on my offer to teach reading. 

At first I took it personally, now it's become a kind of game.  How many places can I fill out applications to be a volunteer and have them turn me down.

*
I stood on the sidelines at a public event yesterday, League to Save Lake Hoojiwah.

I blended in with the folks there, they were college educated, of the class to which I used to belong, so as long as no one sees my teeth or my hands, I can blend in with them.

I wore tie dye and a hemp sun hat.  I was greeted at the door as one of them. 

I filled out their form to be a volunteer. Then I watched as they gave out awards to volunteers from years past who had done great work with the nonprofit. 

I became filled with this sense- if only I could have that experience too, where you arrive in a town, sign up for something, and you're wanted.  What must it be like to be the person they encourage to come back.
*

But me, as always, they Google my name, then toss my info card in the trash and I never hear from them again. So I'm the woman at the table alone behind sunglasses and a rimmed hat, who leaves before anyone has a chance to find out who she is.