I’m an introverted actor whose biggest role is playing the
extrovert.
I love one-on-one time, but I hate group activities. I’m
claustrophobic. I don’t do well with multiple noises. I have trouble focusing.
I daydream a lot. I talk too much when I should stop, and I’m silent when I
should start. I have a classic case of social anxiety.
I walk in fear that I may run into someone I know. Not
because I want to avoid a certain person—I love persons. I hate people. I
have a classic case of social anxiety.
If my food order comes out wrong, I don’t say anything. I’d
rather eat something I’m allergic to than tell a stranger they did their job
wrong. To me, even meaningless small talk is like an art form to master or a
wild beast to tame. Most people just say what is on their mind, but how can I
say aloud, “Huh. I’ve never gotten a DNA test done. I wonder if my parents are
actually my parents.” That’s not small talk nor is that what normal humans
think about.
For me, I have approached small talk as an organized
mechanism that, if properly executed, will achieve pointless acquaintanceship:
in this order, it begins with a witty, calculated reply that agrees with the
partner and also turns the small talk humorous, a nod of the head and a low hum
that signals you are willing to listen instead of butt-in with a response, a
verbal agreement using synonyms of the words they used, essentially repeating
exactly what they said, then a laugh to whatever they say next as you begin to
turn, and finally one last comment referring to the first joke you made as you
turn the corner. It works every time.
By now, you probably realize, I have a classic case of
social anxiety. I would rather ride the elevator to every floor than ask the
front desk for directions. I recently watched as a girl took the sandwich I was just about to grab and walked away. I pace for ten minutes until I gain the courage to
ask my roommate if he still needs the light on. I don’t even care what his
answer is—I could sleep with the light on or off. I just hate asking. If I
can’t hear what someone has told me to do, I’d rather say, “Sure, I’ll do it
right away” and start piecing apart the vowels I heard than ask them to repeat
themselves. When people say “Bye, love you!” I accidentally groan aloud and
either clear my throat to pretend like I didn’t hear them or offer a quick,
“Oh, okay!” as I briskly walk away. I have gotten into many arguments this way.
And I hate confrontation, because I would rather agree with someone that I was
wrong than explain them my point of view and defend myself.
My life is considerably more confusing and much more
stressful with social anxiety—but amidst all the stress and confusion, I would
not change that part of me for the world.
Because it is a part of me,
and I love it.
After all, it makes for some pretty great stories…
