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Inside a mind with social anxiety one hour before a party.
"What am I going to say as an excuse this time?"
12.22.18
It’s 6:00 p.m.
<p><em>The party starts in an hour.</em></p><p><em>What am I going to say as an excuse this time?</em></p><p><em>“I’m sick.”</em></p><p><em>I type it in my phone.</em></p><p><em>No.</em></p><p><em>I used that excuse last week.</em></p> <p><em>My heart rate speeds up.</em></p><p><em>I can’t breathe.</em></p><p><em>All the possible things that could go wrong</em></p><p><em>Play through my head like a soundtrack.</em></p><div id="upworthyFreeStarVideoAdContainer"><div id="freestar-video-parent"><div id="freestar-video-child"></div></div></div><p><em>What if they ask about why I always cancel?</em></p><p><em>What if I crash on the way there?</em></p><p><em>What if they don’t actually want me there?</em></p><p><em>Just inviting me to save face.</em></p> <p><em>I leave.</em></p><p><em>I’m on my way.</em></p><p><em>I convince myself it will be OK.</em></p><p><em>I listen to low music to try to distract the rapid wave of worry over taking me. I see the house.</em></p><p><em>All the cars are there.</em></p><p><em>“I’m late.”</em></p><p><em>I can’t walk in now,</em></p><p><em>Everyone will be watching me.</em></p><p><em>I pull over,</em></p><p><em>And take a deep breath.</em></p> <p><em>After 10 minutes I convince myself to walk to the door.</em></p><p><em>I take as long as humanely possible.</em></p><p><em>What if they ask me about why I’m late?</em></p><p><em>What if they ask me about school?</em></p><p><em>What if they ask me what’s wrong?</em></p> <p><em>What is wrong?</em></p><p><em>I replay the question in my head.</em></p><p><em>I don’t know.</em></p><p><em>I’m plagued by fear every day.</em></p><p><em>I’m overwhelmed by the thought of being around a lot of people.</em></p><p><em>I have to rehearse every possible conversation I may have,</em></p><p><em>Until I can say it into the mirror without hesitation.</em></p> <p><em>What is wrong?</em></p><p><em>I’m convinced no one likes me.</em></p><p><em>I compare myself to everyone.</em></p><p><em>Why would someone want to be friends with me?</em></p> <p><em>I did it again.</em></p><p><em>I turned around.</em></p><p><em>I’m in the car,</em></p><p><em>Exhausted by the fear and worry that consumed me.</em></p><p><em>But I feel relief.</em></p><p><em>I’m OK.</em></p><p><em>I didn’t go.</em></p> <p><em>I spend the rest of the night in my room.</em></p><p><em>Criticizing myself for everything.</em></p><p><em>“You can’t even go to party”</em></p><p><em>my brain taunts.</em></p> <p><em>But I still feel relief.</em></p><p><em>Saving myself from another confrontation between social anxiety and myself.</em></p>
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