The Socially Anxious

They can see me.

I have tried my entire life to be invisible, but people still seem to see me. It’s a curse. I just want to walk among them unseen, unheard, unfelt, to just make my way through without trouble. I don’t want the burden of bidding someone a good morning. I don’t want to be asked how I’m doing by someone who’s not my friend enough to know on their own. I don’t want to discuss the weather. God, the torture.

Do you know how hard it is for me?

I want to reach the photocopying machine to get some papers for my manager. But the machine lies right before someone’s desk. On the way, I will be the only one walking; everyone else will be seated. My footsteps will be heard. People might look up from their work to see who’s disrupting the quiet. They may judge my clothes. Maybe I smell. Maybe they’ll think I’m too loud. Worse, they may nod or try to initiate conversation. Someone might say hi, and then I’ll have to say hi back, but my voice will be too low, and I’ll seem like a snob who doesn’t say hi back. And what if I make it there with no disruptions? Someone will be sitting right in front of the machine. I will have to say hi to them, at least. Unless they don’t see me. Maybe if I’m quick enough, I won’t be noticed. Maybe if I pretend to be looking at my phone. Maybe if I pretend to be in a hurry.

My boss really wants those papers. I’m already two seconds late. It’s time. I have to make the walk now.

I walk to the photocopying machine. As I tiptoe to reach my papers, I become aware of the people behind me looking at me, at my clothes, at my weight, at my hair. I know I’m having a bad hair day, but does everyone need to know it too?

This is my life.

Wherever people exist, my problems exist. If I need to so much as get up to throw something in the trash can, I have to think about all the possible scenarios and analyze the patterns of the people around me. It’s exhausting, but it’s not your fault. Maybe it’s my fault. Or maybe it’s no one’s fault. I was probably just born this way. Or maybe I got judged too much as a kid, I don’t know.

I wish people were kinder. I wish people spoke deeply, you know? I wish that if someone chose to start a conversation with me, it would be about their dreams, about their pain, about their weird thoughts, about their silliest shortcomings. It makes me feel less awkward about myself. It makes me remember that we’re all human, that I’m not alone. It makes me let down my defenses just enough for the other person to see that there is someone behind those walls.

I wish I didn’t have to be like that. I wish people were more understanding of what it’s like for me, and for many others, I’m sure. Parties, gatherings, outings … they’re a nightmare, a timebomb waiting to go off. The only moment I can catch my breath is when I’m home, my door shut behind me. The only thing that can make this tolerable is having one deep, genuine, meaningful conversation with one person, with one human, in that world that has too many stimuli, too much data to process. In the noise and the pressure of having to interact or else I would be judged … the nicest thing is to feel I’m not alone, to find someone I can bond with until I can go home and breathe.

March 31st, 2020