Dear Reader,
I don't open up about my S.A.D often out of fear that I'll be waved off, that you'll say, "Yeah, that happens to me all the time," right before you nonchalantly change the subject. That you'll brush off the confession that has led to my vulnerable state as if it is nothing.
I fear that you'll try to give me a pep talk on how I'm just a little shy, and I'll eventually come out of my shell. I fear that you will burden me with a sympathetic glance, making me feel pathetic and weak for using all the strength I have to admit the worst of me to you.
I fear that you will feel the need to provide me with a diagnosis, despite the countless hours of scholarly and medical research I have done myself. I fear that as soon as I turn my back, you will roll your eyes and label me a "drama queen" who probably got her diagnosis from a Buzzfeed quiz.
I fear that you will interrupt this moment to confess that you feel this way too, implying that everyone has these problems and I shouldn't consider myself special. Or even worse, that you will turn my situation into a segway for your own irrelevant problems.
Because although I value and care deeply about your struggles, I would hope you would care to hear about mine too. To make this about you almost feels as though all the paranoia my anxiety creates, all the voices in my head that say I don't matter ring true.
I am not confessing my internal struggles to receive a pity party. I don't want my illness to become an excuse for my inability to be a productive member of society. As a matter of fact, that's why I so often keep these feelings to myself; it's why I hide behind superficial smiles and blank stares.
Sometimes, I may reach out to you because I need help. I may have needed help in the past and you unknowingly contributed to my recovery. My confession may be an apology for every time I push you away on my worst days. It almost always means I just need you to listen.
What I'm about to share with you should not be taken lightly. I don't like to even utter the term unless it is necessary; it's used so carelessly these days, much like the acronyms OCD or ADD. People coin it as if it is a cute little quirk in their personality. To some, it's a minor disturbance that can be thrown in the closet the minute it becomes an inconvenience. But for me, this weight cannot be shed; it has been embedded into my skin for years, it is a part of me.
I can see that you're squirming in your chair a bit, you're not really sure how you should react. Your emotions should be your own, genuine. There is no perfect formulation of words that will miraculously heal me. I do ask, however, that before you react, you stop and think.
The words that are about to come out of my mouth have been repeated hundreds of times into a mirror. It took me years to accept them, to accept that this wasn't entirely my fault. And now, I am about to share with you a vulnerable piece of myself that I struggle with daily. I am about to reveal the dark and serious burden that often leaves me spiraling down other paths of mental distraught I never thought I would experience. This piece of me that I hate, that I sometimes wish never existed, this perspective that has made me who I am today will now stand before you.
And now I shift in my seat, my hands shaking slightly because this isn't easy. But I'm telling you anyway because you should know that I'm not like this on the inside. I'm telling you because if you've made it this far, you can probably see more of me in the words I write than the tone my voice expresses to your face.
So here lie all the words that were left unsaid every time I blurted out, "I have social anxiety," at the dinner table, at the bar, in my bedroom, at your desk, on that park bench, in that classroom, on that curbside. Because based on your initial reaction, I know you didn't fully understand what that meant, and that wasn't your fault.
There are a lot of words because even though you can't tell from my commonly closed lips, an innumerable amount of beautiful and horrifying conceptions bounce back and forth in my mind constantly. Before I begin, I will remind you that my confession almost always means I just need you to listen. So with that, I ask you to humble yourself to the demons that are to be revealed to you, for you are worthy.
Let's begin.