Ever since I can remember, I have hated answering the telephone. The ringing of the phone makes my heart jump out of my chest, especially if it’s a call from an unknown number. Even to this day, I do not answer the landline, and let it continue to ring rather than answering it.
Social anxiety is a darkness that has plagued me since I was quite young. It has showed up in various forms, but every time I am in the company of new people, it always leaves within me an overwhelming feeling of self-hate and disgust towards my own self. I find myself extremely uncomfortable in social situations, and that scares me.
I don’t know what triggered this extreme fear of strangers, because growing up, I had a perfectly good life at home. Of course, school was a different story altogether, because I was a victim of constant bullying. I suppose as much as I would like to brush that off as childhood stupidity, the mean words still do resonate within me. What this, in turn, has done is made me believe that I am not good enough.
I am not good enough for friends, I am not good enough for a job I’d really like to do and I am definitely not good enough for relationships. Who could possibly like me?
These feelings exists on multiple levels and there is so much more, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin talking about them. Those thoughts are too complex for me to decipher right now. But, let me tell you how I recently came to realise that what I’m going through is not okay.
Recently, my office had an awards ceremony, post which the winner of the awards threw a big party, and invited all of us to be part of the celebration. I immediately began panicking, and tried to find a way to get out of it. However, my colleagues insisted that I come along. And I did. And I regretted every second of it.
As soon as we got to the pub, I physically and mentally shut down. I was surrounded by new people, interesting people, funny people, and I found myself incapable of even saying hello.
There’s a book I read recently called The Good Luck of Right Now by Matthew Quick. The main character (Bartholomew Neil) describes this ‘little angry man’ who lives in his stomach, kicking and screaming about how pathetic Bartholomew is, constantly putting him down for every decision he took.
Well guess what I found? The little angry man lives in my stomach too, and boy did he bash me up that day. He keeps telling me I am worthless, useless, no one likes me, I am not needed. And I listened to him, and the darkness kept growing and growing. In a panic, I began texting my friend, and here’s an excerpt from the conversation:
I hate my fucking self. A sentiment I have felt so often. A sentiment which has held me back on so many occasions. I’ve probably lost out on so many opportunities of making new friends and acquaintances because of it.
I didn’t leave, however. Maybe I enjoy being miserable, but I glued myself to my seat and just sat there for hours, silently seething, while everyone around me mingled, talked and enjoyed each other’s company.
When it was time to leave, at least three people told me that they didn’t even realise I was there. “You’re really quiet,” someone said. “Yeah,” I said, shrugging. That’s probably the most I spoke that evening.
…
Funnily enough, I would like to believe I am an affable person. I have made lasting friendships and I think I am able to be myself around them. So why does it take so much out of me when I am around new people? Beats me.
But, it’s time for change. I want to be able to live my best life by being my best self, my true self. I have decided that I need help. I begin therapy soon, and I’m very hopeful. It’s time for the little man to die.
P.S. If you’re going through something similar, I just want you to know that you are not alone. We are in this together, and I am certain we can all emerge out of this darkness.
