Social Anxiety

I was meant to write this over a week ago, and I’ve tried to write it three times already, but something keeps stopping me and I’ve been struggling to figure out what it is. I have suffered intermittently from periods of depression, days at a time when I can’t leave the toilets at work because I can’t stop crying, but I’m ok at the moment and I’ve been mostly OK in that respect for a while. However, the thing that affects me constantly and the thing I wanted to write about is Social Anxiety. 

I actually had to Google whether Social Anxiety counts as a mental illness as it isn’t often discussed in the same way that depression, anxiety and OCD etc are so I wasn’t sure that this would be a relevant contribution. It’s usually referred to in funny memes with pictures of cartoon figures; ‘Oh my God someone gave me a compliment and I went bright red, argh I’ve got such bad social anxiety!’ or adopted by people who think it’s another cute way of saying they’re a bit shy, but in reality Social Anxiety is an utterly crippling asshole who lives inside your brain and wants you to live a sad solitary existence away from all human interaction.

I developed Social Anxiety about two years ago after a hideous, gut-wrenching friendship breakdown when my relationship with my best friend (and housemate) imploded and I was made to believe that it was all my fault. For someone who only strives to be kind and likeable, to be hated with such vehemence and then discover the subsequent blog posts outlining your awfulness to the world was really tough and has had long-term damaging effects on my mental health.

Thanks to my socially anxious brain, I find it incredibly difficult to make friends. At this point in my life I would say I have many wonderful acquaintances but I really struggle to call those people my ‘friends’ – my anxiety stops me from believing that any of the people I enjoy spending time with are my friends. It stops me from calling them my friends, because they probably wouldn’t call me their ‘friend’, I’m sure they have other people they say that about, but not me. When I see pictures of people I know on Facebook on a night out, surrounded by a group of different faces all squeezed together for a photo with ‘I love my friends!’ written underneath it, I find myself thinking ‘I wonder how they did that? I wonder how they manage to have all of those friends?’ 

I sent a text message to a ‘friend’ this morning; painstakingly constructed first in my head then on my phone, writing and deleting it continuously for twenty minutes, double and triple checking that everything I’d written was warm and friendly and couldn’t be perceived in any other way. It’s now the afternoon and she hasn’t replied, and I feel with absolutely certainty that this means I have done something wrong and she isn’t interested in being my friend anymore.

Not long after my relationship with my best friend broke down, my Mum turned sixty and we threw a surprise sixtieth birthday party for her full of family and her friends. Standing in the packed kitchen, chatting to my many relatives, I felt a vice-like grip begin to take hold of my head. This has become a familiar feature in busy social situations where there are a lot of people to speak to. It’s like having an iron pole driven in to each of your temples and quick-drying cement poured in to your neck and shoulder muscles. At that point I have to escape and it’s not unusual for me to spend twenty minutes sitting in the bathroom practicing deep breathing techniques and going through ‘what’s the worst that can happen’ scenarios to prepare myself to return to the party.

I am lucky to have a wonderfully supportive boyfriend who I can say without question is my best friend in the whole world and doesn’t judge me one bit for being a social disaster. When we were meant to be going for dinner with his parents and I couldn’t get out of bed or stop crying at the prospect of having to speak to people, he brought me tea, tissues and a hot water bottle and just let me be alone, casually telling his parents I wasn’t feeling well. At other times he helps me to join in conversations in social situations by standing next to me and encouraging my input and calms my fears that I am inherently unlikeable by going through a list of people who like me and call me their friend.

I also feel Social Anxiety is a difficult thing to talk openly about, saying that you don’t have any friends and you don’t know how to make new ones seems to make you more of a weirdo than saying you’re depressed. I have only ever told my boyfriend and my sister about my anxiety, I fear telling friends would be counter-productive as I would then question whether they really wanted to be my friend or if they were just taking pity on me; it’s a vicious circle. 

However, I’m striving hard to beat my condition. I read books and articles on how to be a good conversationalist to try and counter my inability to speak to new people. I put myself in social situations that I find difficult to practice new techniques, I reach out to friends even though it’s scary to ask if they want to hang out, because every time someone says yes I’m reminded that it probably means they like me.

I hope that in time I will have beaten this crappy part of my brain in to submission and I will find it natural and easy to have friends again, I’m working on it and I do believe I’ll get there, but in the meantime, #itaffectsme.