The weather here in London is, by most people’s standards, pretty good. Outside my window, the sun is shining, and I can feel it on my bare arms as I type this post in my bedroom, indoors. It will supposedly hit 33 degrees celcius today – 91.4 degrees Fahrenheit! For Britain, this day should basically be marked has a historic day to remember already, and it hasn’t even hit 30 yet: the typical rumour that Britain gets little, if any, sun is, unfortunately, true.
So, why am I not satisfied?
why am I not happy?
Today, I’m going out for a meal. It’s a social thing – an attempt to make all of the visually impaired students in my area
A] be together in one room and
B] actually get on with one another.
Tha’s fine; I know I get on with the people going, and it’s nothing too serious or important. All the same, nerves have started kicking in; I’d forgotten just how much social anxiety can affect me.
What if I say something stupid?
What if I do something wrong?
What if the usual flow of conversation changes from polite-lunch-convo to a topic which is unexpected, and therefore which I am not prepared for and I consequently say something idiotic and moronic?
Social occasions scare the shit out of me so, so bad. Although I know that it’s just my mind jumping to negative, pessimistic and unlikely worst case scenarios, there are no ‘just’s when it comes to anxiety. Everything – absolutely everything – is something, if you see what I mean.
And this is a big something.
I suppose it feels like a explosion – like that of a coke bottle, when it’s been shaken around in the bag on the way home from the shop – inside my stomach, my heart merely pumping the violently-frothing liquid around and around my body, faster and faster, until eventually the desperately-fast paced pulsing is no longer inside me – it is me. Some people say it’s stupid, and that I should grow up, but I can’t, even if it is stupid. It’s something that, however much I try to, I simply cannot shut out, put to the back of my mind. Somehow, without either my knowledge nor my concent, it has grown and grown until my body and my social anxiety are no longer separate entities but one existence, one thing.
I’m scared about today; I’m nervous and I just don’t know what to do about it. Personally, I think I’m pretty good at hiding it now, at putting on a brave face, but I don’t know.
I just don’t know…