Can I tell you, I’ve felt like this far more often than anyone would loath to hear me talk of. It flairs up like a bad rash, dormant for a while and then all of a sudden I’m scratching, my skin feels on fire. I’m lonely. Isolated. Yearning to scream, but finding myself mute. Does anyone really care about me? She doesn’t really want to be your friend, he’s not interested in you. See how they light up when they’re around other people. No one does that with you. I would give heaps for anyone to notice the inflammation, but instead shutdown foreseeing disinterest once they get a taste of how much this rash covers my interior.
I used to struggle with feelings of social anxiety intensely back in grade school, all through middle school and a portion of high. Though slowly and soundly, through much prayer and willingness, I started to mellow out a bit. I learned how to throw myself into social situations and, even though uncomfortable, survive. It was a long road, but one I conquered.
That is, I thought I conquered; until I left for the world race.
THE WORLD RACE COMMUNITY:: you don’t exactly get to pick your friends here, you don’t get to pick your teammates either. The people on this trip are an eclectic group of individuals who want to serve God. Though we all have a similar focus, this by no means infers you’ll all be best pals. The few you find yourself on a team with spend all of every day together with you for just under a year. The rest you see in intervals, mostly a few hours on travel days. Community is tough, hard work and it became for me, an outbreak of social anxiety.
I met everyone at training camp, but didn’t form deep relationships. When we left for the race in January, I became painfully aware of this as I joined a group of acquaintances, all of which I was obligated to get to know spending a year together. I hate small talk. It makes me weak in the knees. And because I would only see them for a short time each month, my small talk obligations were going to stretch for a year without much hope of really getting to know someone and move past the awkward stage. I would get a knot in my stomach that rendered my arms and legs to cooked spaghetti like strength before travel days. Limp and drained I’d head to the airport. I would be awkward and avoid people for the most part. After a few months, I even started to feel isolated from members on my team. I’d see them getting along with each other so well and forming deep relationships. I didn’t see anyone want that with me so much. I started telling myself I was ugly and undesirable.
Granted, I’d say these things in my head knowing they weren’t true, but then again, maybe they were.
It’s the irrational parts of this personality trait that are so convincing. A succulent mirage of self pity that wears a dark coat of satisfaction only harboring disappointment underneath.
Recently I got fed up with feeling this way and I’ve had enough. This is ridiculous and I’ve been trying to figure it all out. Where is this coming from, am I making all this up, how do I move past it? I don’t have many answers yet, but I might have found a way to change. I realized that I don’t trust people to want me. If I do air my dirty laundry I expect boredom from people, that they’ll think I’m whiny and not want to be around me. I relied on the simple reality that people like sell their own crap but it’s rare you find someone wanting to smell yours. Dying inside, I was telling myself no one would care to listen; to share what’s on the heart becomes a waste of time and emotion in the end.
There’s something not right in my brain and it’s imperative to just get over myself, over my insecurities.
I’ve realized it’s a bit selfish to think that no one cares about me. That’s just not true. If I were to hear someone voice everything I just wrote here, my heart would be breaking for them and I would make it extremely clear how much I want to hear about their problems. Why am I not giving anyone else the same credit?
Go talk to people. Make an effort. Put your self out there. Trust people to actually want you.
