Sometimes, it’s so bad that I prefer death over my next social interaction. The void would be so much easier than applying for that job, than moving to a new place and away from familiarity, to calling my grandfather in an attempt to network with his son. My calendar holds nothing for me in six months. It is entirely too big of a question mark for my anxiety-ridden (and frankly, quite depressed) self. I cannot imagine tucking the dread away to prep myself for the big wide world. I am not entirely an adult it feels, and Professionals appear to me as an emotionless droid that lacks every bit of life that makes us human. Professionals, in my mind, leave, eat, and breathe their work. There is no time outside of the lab. They are what they study. I know this isn’t really true, but the shadow of a stranger looms larger than its reality. It is a dread, an ever so present inkling of fear awaiting us in every café, every classroom, every shared space to exist. My private bathroom is my safe haven because no one can call upon me there.
And how am I supposed to approach the world like this, constantly afraid of the next conversation I’m going to have to have? It’s taken me years of practice and meditation to stop my hands from trembling when I answer an unexpected phone call or chat about my day with the barista. Years; and the feeling isn’t all gone, just managed.
So here I am, crying on the floor of my college apartment, thinking about just how fucking lonely I really am. The other forbidden topic of social anxiety – the absolute inescapable loneliness. The hurdles I have to pass to make an acquaintance, much less a meaningful friendship, is often beyond me. Only under the most specific circumstances have I made meaningful and lasting friendships. My long time friend, A, because the friendship originated in his romantic interest in me (as many of my male relationships do). The friendship only flourished into what it is today because of his extraverted-ness and his persistence in staying my friend despite my many regressions into isolation. He calls constantly, he forces me into conversations in the best kinds of ways. And now? When he calls, it brightens my day rather than darkens my dread. My other friend, Lah, only became my friend when we were stuck in my nightmare of a Lock-In with a college school group. I was alone and she saw and she rescued me and we’ve been friends ever since. She said she liked my vibe, how “chill” I was. We don’t talk much anymore, but I know she will always be a guaranteed participant to any concert or camping event I go to. Chris only became my friend because we happened to become roommates through mutual acquaintances. Over the two years we lived together, we became close. We became best friends even, and with a person I never would’ve gone beyond a “hello” with in public. But we were forced around each other constantly and one of my most beautiful relationships with another human blossomed out of it. I’ve had plenty of vulnerable romantic relationships as well, though they can never seem to go beyond to the level of friendship I have with other people. My relationships with men have always tended to be sex but dressed up in a few “I adore you” texts. That’s probably unrelated to my social anxiety and instead related to my history of sexual abuse and grooming. But that’s an entirely different fucking story.
Such a pity post here but I’m not going to apologize. There is a wealth of debilitating mental illnesses that go so far beyond social anxiety. But I will not belittle my struggle with this because I do know everyone has their limits, and mine is this. I will always struggle with it. Every moment of mine with another in the room will be hiccups, heartaches, and at times absolute horror.
But god if I’ve made it this far then I can keep going.
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