I’m so tired of doing this thing, where like – I don’t know if it’s like. Social anxiety or something maybe?
Where like. I don’t know if I quite have the energy to go out and deal with people, but I’m a bit on the fence about it, and I usually sort of feel like I *should* go deal with people, because apparently social interaction is good for you or something.
And I go out – and I think the weird thing is like. It’s never a bad time.
It’s not like it’s awful, or terrible, or like. Some kind of burning pain or anything.
It’s just. This slow seeping sour taste, that always seems to settle in just as I’m walking out the door. The slow shivers like when you don’t quite realize you’re cold until you notice that your teeth are chattering.
Then I’m home and I just get to pick at it, or let it sit in my joints.
Sometimes I can pick out the moment, but most of the time I can’t.
It’s just sort of this… looming, ominous shade that I can’t shake off.
I think maybe that’s the worst part of it. I feel like I should probably just stay in my corner, and keep to my own space. Because I never really feel like I’ve done that poorly?
I always seem to feel sort of like… I managed to not fuck up everything. I didn’t say anything horrifically wrong (…probably). I feel like I’ve done reasonably well, but… in the wrong direction.
I just hit a few too many missed steps and wound up in the wrong spot. It doesn’t matter if I’m still moving, because I’m not where everyone else is, and I don’t know how to *get* to where everyone else is.
So instead I kind of mostly just…coast along. I’m pretty good at smiling and nodding and pretending at the right beats (at least, I think I am?) but it’s just on the surface. It’s just skating, and there’s nothing underneath it.
Then the evening ends, and I get to go home, sit in my corner, and spend the entire night wishing than I had any kind of skill for shaking things off.
I think the worst part is that I can feel it whittling down at my social life. I have dinner with someone, and it doesn’t even go poorly, but I end up at home, tasting bitter and stuck in a cycle of obsessing and the absolute surety that I’ve somehow managed to make an utter fool of myself, and that really it would just be for the best if I don’t choose to make the same mistake again.
It builds up, and then I have this huge circle of people in my life that I feel like I probably should just never interact with, because it isn’t like it goes well, and maybe I used to be better at faking it? Or maybe I never noticed?
As it stands, I wish I could learn to just. *stop. talking*.
because it always seems clever and relevant at the time, until I realize that…it really isn’t. At all.
I’ve never been particularly good at not talking, but maybe if I could get better I wouldn’t have so many evenings, at home, in my corner, wishing that I never had to see any these people ever again.
It’s my own fault. I keep saying yes to things that I ought not be saying yes to.
I just keep thinking that I remember it not feeling like this. I used to be better at this shit.
Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s this town.
It’s probably most definitely a symptom of my ongoing adventures with shitty brain chemistry.
I think maybe what I really miss is being alone.