Ready, Set, Choke

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Sooooooo it's been awhile. It's not you, beloved reader, it's me. I've been so mentally constipated lately, and unfortunately writing has taken a back seat. Which double sucks because writing in this way, letting it all rush out of me onto the keys, is the mental laxative I've needed. I suppose I've not written on HERE because, on the Lyme front, everything is normal. Or at least as normal as it can be. I still am exhausted most of the time. I wake up each morning either COMPLETELY refreshed and very Julia Roberts a la Lancome commercial, or COMPLETELY exhausted with pain all over and through my body, unable to get myself out of bed, and with a pre-Cindy-Lou-Who-Grinch attitude that stays all day long. But I need this. I need this "escape" that writing, or as my mother puts it, "diarrhea of the mouth", provides. Sometimes I need to just get this shit out.

Speaking of: let's talk about social anxiety. More specifically how it just made a mess of my evening.

So I follow this interior designer on Instagram. He's talented, witty, funny, good looking, available, etc. And tonight he was putting on an event at a local clothing boutique to meet his followers and promote his new design and self-help book. "This is great", I thought, "I'll get the chance to meet him!" And indeed I did, ladies and gents. After about 15 minutes of walking around the store looking at beautiful clothing I could NOT at all afford, I finally worked up the guts to approach him. We chatted and he was charming and handsome as can be, and everything was going great...

UNTIL: my verbal diarrhea began. For no apparent reason I decided to let him in on way too much of my life. Like, "this is the history of the college I went to" levels of extra information. I could feel his eyes glazing over as our conversation took a very sharp turn into the realm of "this is so awkward please shut up Grayson". You see, my social anxiety takes two forms. Either I am in the corner, drenched in fear, tending to the black hole developing in my stomach and wishing I could be anywhere other than the place I've put myself in. OR, someone will actually strike up a conversation with me and the black hole will shift into reverse, and I'll be completely unable to SHUT THE HELL UP. Such was the case tonight. As a result, and after the hot interior designer found an excuse to work the room, I awkwardly latched onto the one copy of the book this guy had brought with him that was on display, whilst he went around the store and, like an ordinary human being, chatted with other people WITHOUT barfing his life all over them. (fun fact: later when I, again - awkwardly, approached him to thank him for a lovely time... "lovely time?" omg wtf am I doing guys... and apologized for hogging the book, he told me that he was actually glad someone was genuinely looking through it rather than saying "that's nice" and moving on. so i guess that worked out).

So there I was, reading basically the entire book cover to cover over the course of a half hour, until at last a group of beautiful LA blonde women came over - WITH THE GUY (they must've all been friends) - and the impending stampede of "inside conversation" finally broke me out of my petrification and I was able to put the book down and relocate my severe case of stone face to a corner of the store. Where I then looked aimlessly through my phone at my CONTACTS (kill me now) while waiting for some sort of way to leave the store with a shred of social elegance. That exit, alas, did not happen. Luckily though I had  actually read this guy's book, and the writing was legit funny and witty and thought provoking and genuine and honest and an all around good read. So I decided that my exit strategy was going to be a "hello again, thank you for a lovely time..." (again, guys - just kill me) "...your book was really good - I thoroughly enjoyed it, oh and here's my number in case you ever want to get a coffee [with the complete weirdo aggressively staring you down]."

Oh, did I fail to mention that detail? As part of my grand plan for the evening, I'd written my number down on a piece of paper and was planning on having this grandiose moment, where I courageously threw my fear and anxiety to the wind as I planted my number in his hand. (You guys. It's really hard to get myself to stop concocting these Nancy Meyers rom-com situations in my head that I convince myself will happen).

But anyway, after one of the store attendants passed out coupons for the outrageously overpriced clothing I was surrounded by ($5 off your order of $200 or more. whoopie.), I found my moment, mustered up what little amount of courage I had left, went up to the sexy interior designer...

...and promptly drew a blank after getting "......... thanks........." out...

and shaking his hand while watching his kind smile turn into pure pity as I explained how meaningful his book was to me WHICH MAKES NO SENSE BECAUSE I HAD ONLY JUST PICKED IT UP A HALF OF A FREAKING HOUR AGO OMG YOU GUYS LOCK ME AWAYYYYYY. Oh, and the slip of paper with my number that I was supposed to oh so confidently place in his hand with a smile? Yeeeaaaah that shit got balled up and tossed into the bushes as I slumped to my car.

ALL of this to say: I cannot stand my social anxiety. What's more - I didn't even have this shit for the longest time. I had a little of it (ok a lot) back in high school, but that was because I was going through EVERY teenage ground-shaker you can think of. Sexual identity, social identity, body image issues, bad acne, etc. I was THE QUINTESSENTIAL awkward moody teen. But during college I blossomed into a fabulous, self assured and self aware human being. And I thought that that awkward teenager was gone for good, and therefore the social anxiety was gone for good. NOPE, SURPRISE LINDA - ITS STILL HERE.

Literally you guys my social anxiety has EXPONENTIALLY increased since leaving college. I'm not exaggerating this: EXPONENTIALLY. I can barely talk to ANYONE I don't already know and am comfortable with. New coworkers, my boss, library attendants, waiters/waitresses. I'm even awkward around the pizza delivery guy - a person whose ENTIRE interaction with me needn't extend further than "here's your pizza - thanks, dude" *door closes*. I'll end up either staring at him silently and blankly like a serial killer because I don't know what to do, or I'll tell him my life story, and in an attempt to end the pain of listening to me talk he'll cram the entire pizza down his own throat to suffocate himself. Oh and don't even get me STARTED on social gatherings where I'm required to be around people I don't know. You might as well try to convince me to ingest a black mamba.

And it BLOWS. CHUNKS. BIG. HARD. CHUNKS. Because I am a vibrant Leo, you guys. I THRIVE off of social interaction and connecting with people one on one, but that can NEVER happen now because, outside of going to work, I've basically devolved into a hermit. In fact one of my friends from college who was in my a cappella group with me is having a big, fabulous birthday dance party tomorrow night that he invited me to, and as much as I love the guy the mere prospect of going to a place with lots and lots of people in a dark area with loud music where everyone will be dancing while I stand there awkwardly with my glass of water SCARES THE SHIT out of me. Hell - I only got through my brother's wedding BECAUSE he's my brother, and my whole family and all my close friends were there to put my mind at ease.  And I HATE that. Because I know for a fact that the Grayson from college would've been all "hold my drink" as he whopped it out on the dance floor for all to see - heedless of what he looked like doing the cabbage patch with with the bride's grandmother.

So I don't know, you guys. I'm not going to end this post with a "but guess what, everything is actually hunky dory because _____" statement, because life isn't like that. Sometimes the answers to our questions continue to evade us. And that is VERY much me right now with social anxiety. The only upswing I can think of, with regards to how terribly off track this evening went, is that it spurred me onto writing again on the Byting Back Blog. So that's something I suppose.

Sigh.

Send me good vibes and blessings, y’all. No, strike that. Send me SOCIAL vibes. And gin. Lots of gin. That should at least help with the dancing.