I hate to be too serious, but sometimes, late at night when I think about blog posts for the next day, I can't help but be serious. To save you from any unwanted contemplation, I've included a jump break. Thus, if you are feeling light-hearted, you may skip the seriousness, and move on to something more entertaining (such as coffee, and flying barns).
I have what they call “social anxiety.” Try not to laugh. This isn’t normal teen aged awkwardness and I’m not being-hypochondriacal (today at least). I have social anxiety. I feel I should educate you few on exactly what that entails. Maybe then my brethren could breathe a bit easier.
It’s easiest to begin with disillusioning you to what social anxiety is not. Having social anxiety is not sitting friendless in the corner. It's not wearing head-to-toe black. It's not burning down buildings and its not drinking and smoking and breaking the law. That is anti-social disorder and not social anxiety.
Social anxiety is being the silent one in a group of “friends,” disconcerting thoughts flashing through my mind; “What do they think?”, preventing my speech. It's walking by a group of snickering frosh boys, unable to escape the irrational conclusion that the laugh is about me. It's following friends and acquaintances like a starving stray because I’m in an unfamiliar scenario and I haven’t the time to orchestrate the usual step-by-step mental procedure in which I detail how to cope with various complications that may arise. It's writing down on a piece of scratch paper what I am going to say to my grandmother on the telephone.
Why not just stop the madness? I find it easy enough to pick out the irrational thoughts, to disguise my more obvious signs of a psychological disorder. Yet a single rational thought does little to counteract a sea of fallacy. My mind is a positive feedback loop; I think, “It’s impossible that those boys are laughing at me, they don’t even know me,” and somewhere in my brain replies, “What if…?” “What if toilet paper is stuck to my shoe?” “What if I have something in my teeth?” “What if they think I’m ugly?” “What if they think I’m fat?” “What if they realized how awkward I am?” “What if my shorts have ridden up unattractively?” “What if they heard my prom date dumped me?” I’m lucky I’ve had approximately 20 years to perfect the art of hiding the effects of hordes of negative thoughts.
Sometimes I find coping more difficult than sullenly trudging forward, moving on to more pressing, thought consuming activities. If the anxiety becomes too great, my actions become impossible to control. If I’m embarrassed my rational decision making process shuts down, overwhelmed by the apparent proof of my inadequacy. A panic attack ensues, a crowd staring at me in shock because they hadn’t realized I was crazy. It's an interesting paradox.
Think of the meanest thing you’ve ever said, the most derogatory name you’ve ever called someone, the most embarrassing gossip you’ve spilled. I hope you feel guilty. Now know that there are people like me misinterpreting nearly every move you make, every word you say to have the effect of the aforementioned. For every rude, slight inflection of voice, misdirected sneer, and nearly inaudible scoff, I hope you feel that same twinge of guilt. If the world was a kinder place, people with social anxiety would have no basis for their fear.
There is not much more I can do to help myself. I’ve changed my cognitions, adapted my behavior to the best of my ability. Though I’ll never be the belle of the ball, in years to come I will learn to be more sociable. There is, however, something you can do to help the plight of my fellow sufferers; next time you’re stuck with the quiet, awkward one in the bunch, offer them a kind word and a smile. He or she may not be “just a loner.” It may be a disguise for a social disease.
http://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/guide/mental-health-social-anxiety-disorder
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