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Hanging out in a group is where I feel the most free. I feed off of energies and I’m completely me.
But what if I’m not my “fun” self tonight? What if I don’t want to be as cheerful as usual? What if people decide I’m fake because I’m not always cheerful? What if they call me a snob for not smiling as much? If I’m not always on, I can’t go out.
Then comes isolation. I need a bit of it in order to recuperate and ground myself. Too much of it and I’m a goner.
So I isolate myself completely and make the problem worse, of course.
I could walk up to every stranger and strike up a conversation. Once it becomes real and I have to worry about keeping up appearances though... that’s where it gets tricky.
But, I love people! I want to be around them all the time! I’m also terrified of them. I’m terrified I might do something to make them hate me.
I want to be seen. I’m also terrified the real me will be seen and everyone will pick her apart. The real me is too sensitive for that. I don’t know if she could take it. So I show a little bit of the fake me. It’s assumed all of me is fake.
I want to love. Oh my, do I want to shower the world with love! Extroverts put ourselves out there a lot. There’s more room for love and so much more room for hate, in a sad world like this. Any wrong move and suddenly I’m fake. I’m a fake snob. I’m dumb and senseless. What if the majority rules I’m hateable? It’s happened more often than not.
How can I trust myself to be loved when I’m so hateable? Anxiety reminds me of all the friendships that went sour because of my defining trait. Anxiety reminds me of all the words people have called me. Crazy. Self-centered. Snob. Fake. Dumb. Slut. Flirt. Aggressive. Self-absorbed. Big mouth. Toxic. Naive. Liar.
These words swirl around my head like dirty smoke until I’m too anxious to say the wrong thing. So instead I say nothing. Or I try to say the right thing and my tone makes it the wrong thing and I start to sweat and people think I’m mad.
I’m just so anxious. I’m afraid. How do I protect myself now? The anxious monster is out of the cage but she looks so much like anger. Anxiety is fear disguised as anger, who craves control because she’s out of control. She isn’t me. She’s not the real me. She’s the liar. She’s the self-centered one. She wants all the attention on her. She isn’t me!
I see stars and fog and feel the bad kind of warm that makes my usually cold, dry hands sweat unforgivingly. I try to focus and begin to slowly breathe her out. Three counts. I breathe me back in. Three counts. I focus on clarity, three counts. Breathe more of her back out, three counts.
I look for something green. Green isn’t anxiety. Green is nature. Green is grounding. Green is growth.
I realize I’m surrounded by green. There are trees. There’s grass. There are leaves on flowers. Some green shirts on people.
The grass is rubbery as I twist it between my fingers. I note it’s making my leg itch a little. I imagine the green shirts are soft. I notice a breeze dancing through the trees.
I’m back in a park. I’m with my friends. I remember my friends like me.
They’re laughing. They realize I’m not laughing with them. They look at me and ask if I’m home.
Anxiety is fading. The red has dissipated. I can see clearer. The sky is blue and the sun is out.
I laugh and make a joke about disassociating.
Someone rolls their eyes. A few friends laugh along with me. A few others say it’s a serious issue. The conversation moves forward. It breathes.
And so do I. Without Anxiety. Until she comes back, I’m free again to just be me. I like me. I want to share her with more people.
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