A Rather Dry Description

2002-05-13 - 9:57 a.m.

Because I am so very, very tired it is likely a good time to try to describe what my social anxiety feels like.

I don't think I've done a good job, relying more on my readers' familiarity with the subject rather than trying to put my own words toward its description. This is not only dangerous, as I risk losing my audience, but it can also lead to a false interpretation of me as well as a misunderstanding of others who may feel similar to myself.

The first thing to know is that it isn't a fear, per se. There is often fear involved, at least with me, but that usually comes before or after, either in anticipation of the anxiety, or in estimating any consequences after the fact. But the actual emotion is, indeed, best described by the word "anxiety".

It's curiously specific. I likme public speaking, and even performance, when I was in band. I've been in drama, competed in public speaking, and even gave a speech at my mom's nomination when she ran for office a few years ago. I actually -like- giving speeches.

The anticipation is probably the main thrust of it. I feel a "hand-wringing" sensation in my gut, my thoughts speed up, but they tend to go too "high": they go into a place where I can't reach them...as if my thoughts have become like those time-lapsed clouds that movie makers like to use for effect. I get all the traditional "fight or flight" symptoms, to different degrees. And while I've never had an actual all-out panic attack, I haven't ruled that out as a possibility.

It's the feeling of dread that usually makes me avoid the situation. Or, in the case of my running errands right now, its the expectation of the dread.

The dread tends to mix with self-loathing, which isn't terribly helpful. I am aware that what I'm feeling isn't normal, that it isn't even productive, and I'm aware that when I speak with people they aren't seeing the real me.

The dread usually reaches its peak just before any actual communication happens, and the anger at myself usually becomes the dominant emotion after the event is over (or after I have decided to avoid the event) and I have time to reflect.

So far, the only strategy I have to avoid feeling like this is alcohol, and that is an imperfect solution at best. There are times when being drunk -intensifies- things.

The only other options are to deal with it, which I think I am fairly good at, or to structure my life so as to have as little contact as possible, which I have also discovered some success, given my circumstances.

Now, despite all of the above, I don't think I have a serious case. Those are probably the most severe symptoms I've experienced, though I would guess that there is some level of anxiety 95% of the time. I do leave the house, and the worst I do as far as isolating myself is to become hermit-like for two or three days. If I can get my "hermit days" often enough, I actually enjoy them. But if, for whatever reason, I have to stay social when I -need- to retreat, I tend towards depression.

Right now I am mostly good. I've had some positive social experiences, and I've had some time where the apartment was completely mine. I -do- need to spend some time with Pookie, because I've seen him for only about 2 hours a day for the last week, and haven't seen him for almost 48 hours at this point because he lives in daylight.

I am currently in danger, however, of spending too much time alone...though I still don't feel completely recharged yet, either.

So there, now you know what I feel like at parties when I don't know anyone.

If I could live in a room full of puppies, I could be almost completely happy.

Cheers,

The Magus

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