Dear friends and family,
I know I've written a bit about anxiety before, but I decided to give you more of an inside look into how it works for me.
So here goes...I have social anxiety. Oh, so you're just a bit overly nervous. Well, that is normal; is it not? I mean, everyone gets nervous sometimes. Nervous is defined as being unnaturallyoracutelyuneasyorapprehensive. Social Anxiety is defined as a feeling of uneasiness, dread, or apprehension about social interaction and presentation. The primary concern of someone with social anxiety is that one will be (or is being) judged negatively by other people, regardless of whether this is actually the case. As you can see, there is a difference.
No, I am NOT just overly nervous. I told you. I have social anxiety, so my fear is much more complex.
My brain, in my case, isn't my friend but my enemy. It batters me with doubt and self-loathing. It's irrational thinking, I know, I know. But, much like my fear of moths, I can't stop convincing myself the stranger's I passed on the street were laughing at me.
I cannot help that something as normal as hanging out with friends send shivers down my spine as my mind begins to whirl. What will we do? How many people will be hanging out? Will I know everyone? What do I say to that comment? Oh, I got it...crap, already on a new topic. Am I talking too much? Too little? Wha-Huh-Oh no, it's fine. Tell your story, I'll finish mine later. I cannot help that I think my friends view me as the annoying unwanted tag-along.
I cannot help that I'm sent into a panic attack when faced with the unknown or am forced to let go of what I know. How will I be able to handle it? I cannot help that my hands tremble and my own voice turns on me and caves in and my eyes glisten with my effort of keeping it together. I cannot help that without my 150 milligram helper, I dread getting out of bed. I cannot help that I've been late to class because of my head lying between my legs as I rock back and forth in the bathroom stall; my mind screaming to just give up and go home and then turning my head and screaming instead to get up, because you cannot go home a failure. I cannot help that your words of comfort are twisted into knives of guilt and that my brain uses your love to berate me out to be a pitiful, pathetic burden. So, please do not get offended when I ask to be left alone, because I physically cannot take your kindness anymore.
I cannot help that I am suffering from social anxiety, but I hope that this letter helped you to better understand what goes on in the mind of an anxiety-ridden teen.
Sincerely,
Cassidie Shinpaugh
