mask on

check

smile

check

ready

&

action.

extroverted introvert

they named me

demons made me

an empath

so i could

anticipate

their needs.

mask on, smile, action

Never let them see

my internal turmoil

keep smiling

make them happy

at all costs

feel their emotions

foresee

put them at ease.

mask on, smile, action

hide

my emotions

swallow

the pain

smile

be witty

charm them

entertain.

mask on, smile, action

Everyone's

best friend.

mask on

check

smile

check

ready

&

action.

breaths and whispers

that aren't my own

i'm crushed

the walls are closing in

a swirl of thoughts

but i can't seem to

catch any

as they plunge into the dark

into the deep black

where i can't escape

just falling further

why am i this way

i'm broken

but all too

aware of the buzzing of words

as they try to cut me

and the eyes

they're glancing

looking at my soul

why can't i be

gone

just let me disappear

fingers tight

on the shopping cart,

i keep my feet steady

to slow my heart.

the grocery store is

now a place of death.

i walk slow,

but nothing can

slow my breath.

i keep my face neutral,

so that no one hears;

my inner screams

only fall on deaf ears.

i talk and talk,

i smile and laugh,

i walk and walk.

the aisles are walls

made of brick and bone;

the tiles on the floor

bleed like cuts.

i can feel eyes

on every inch of skin.

i want to cover up so

no one can see within.

my body is on a stage

every time i go in public.

and i want to hide

in the shadow

of the spotlight.

everyone is my audience,

i'm supposed to

put on a show.

but every time i breathe

my mind screams at me

to go.

go far away

hide back in your hole

don't look at the faces

just look at the products

in the aisle

and your white knuckles

on the shopping cart.

you're in the mexican food aisle

you soothe yourself

with reading name brands

of tortillas.

your fingers unclench

color seeps back into your skin.

but every step feels

like a battle.

and you can rarely win.

suddenly even the tiny signs fade.

your anxiety is now

invisible on the outside.

but inside your thoughts still roll

a speech being read live.

everyone sees into your head

they see your thoughts

and they hate you for it.

you're so self centered,

you're no main character.

why do you see yourself

in the spotlight,

when you're barely even

worthy of a backstage role?

but i don't see myself

as a main character.

i see myself as a backup

shoved into the spotlight

when i don't have any lines

memorized.

i know i'm no main character

but everyone looks at me like

i am one.

and it's not a good feeling.

my white knuckles on

the metal shopping cart

play a song

that only i know.

the shopping cart blues.

The heart: "I can't wait to go to this party"

The mind: "You're not going, you're staying home"

The heart: "But why?"

The mind: "Because do you really want to embarass yourself in front of all those people?"

The heart: "No I don't"

The mind: "Exactly"

The heart: *Stays home*

The heart: *Goes to a dine in resturaunt*

The mind: "What are you doing here?"

The heart" I want to eat some good food"

The mind: "Do you really want to eat here while all these people watch you eat?"

The heart: "No I don't"

The mind: "So then go to the grocery store and use the self-checkout to buy your own food"

The heart: *Buys a frozen pizza from the grocery store*

The heart: *Gets invited to go hang out with friends*

The mind: "Where do you think your going?"

The heart: "My friends want me to go out"

The mind: "Do you really think you can have friends when you're so weird?"

The heart: "But I-"

The mind: "You're staying home"

Everyday it's a constant battle between my heart and my brain. The heart wishes it can venture out into the world unafraid and full of courage to do all the things that it longs for. But the brain has the higher power and it refuses to give the heart what it wants. The brain is full of fear, that the world will be watching and waiting for it to fail...

I look around

"Keep your head to the ground."

I keep my head raised

Trying to be unfazed

"They're all staring at you."

I know it's untrue

"They're all laughing."

At this point it's attacking

My heart pounds from stress

"You need to get out of this mess."

I am frozen in place

"At least hide your ugly face."

My face feels hot

But I can't leave the spot

"You don't belong in society."

This is my Social Anxiety

all those eyes

surrounding,

piercing like knives.

but then again

it doesn't even matter

whether or not

i got an infant from work

with me, or two,

whether or not

i get the 'teen mom' stares

on top,

and then again

it doesn't even matter

whether or not

i got a male friend with me

whether or not

i get the 'she isn’t pretty enough

to be with a boy'

or even worse, the 'slut' stares

on top,

and then again

it doesn't even matter

whether or not

i hold my best friend

close to me,

whether or not

that gives me the 'lesbian' stares

on top,

because no matter

if happy or sad,

whether talking or not,

i feel a m i ll i o n

pairs of eyes

that i can't shut out

and then again

it doesn't even matter

whether

there are actual people

behind them

or not.

Someone’s up on stage talking, the audience pretending to listen, shifting in their creaky seats. The projector’s a little off, the screen just slightly out of sync with the slideshow blinking across it.

I always end up looking at the ceiling in the boring parts; the big square lights divided into four like windows. Half the sections are dead, flat grey instead of yellowish dirty light.

My mouth is dry, my throat rusting.

The audience whispers and creaks and exists all around me. Watching them, listening is nice, but I always find myself hunching down and screaming silently, don’t look at me!

My throat is dry, my mouth rusting.

My backpack’s crammed on the floor between my shoes; I always keep it with me just in case, but what’s the point if I’m too scared to use it? I picture myself opening it again and again, sliding out my blue water bottle, unscrewing the lid.

What if it’s loud? What if people look? Am I supposed to have water in the auditorium? What if it goes down wrong and I get stuck in a coughing fit? That seems to happen a lot, in crowds, at the quiet parts in movies. I don’t even need a drink; I’ve figured out how to choke on my own saliva.

It’s a relief when the assembly’s over, and everyone’s moving and standing and getting up, talking and walking and paying more and less attention to everything, and I can go back to class to my spot at the back and take a drink where no one’s watching (not that they were watching anyway).

Several years ago, I was involved in a study of socially anxious people. Centred around a learning situation, none among them would ever accept that they'd done well, regardless of any good marks. As for those with lesser marks, none could imagine their failure to learn was anyone's fault but their own. Even worse, nothing could change their viewpoint, and if I'm honest, I started to find their negativity almost intransigent.

That I know is completely unfair, but being unfair to the socially anxious is almost a fact of life. I know social anxiety is a medical condition, but I still found myself becoming exasperated, behaving as if these people wouldn't be helped. I can't have helped them. They had to pick up on my exasperation, but in my defence, it is a world of rigid absolutes.

I also know the classic cure is cognitive behavioural therapy, but again, that's too simplistic. Remember the saying, “Even paranoids have real enemies.” Therapy doesn't take place in a vacuum, and attempts at restructuring a person's thoughts aren't going to last as long as he or she is stuck in a hostile environment. Re-framed thought don't help if you stay powerless, and even worse, the therapy risks becoming one more example of personal failure.

If you're by nature shy, or plain, or klutzy, or socially inept, or in any way different, you're going to be victimized by others. That's simply the nature of herd animals, and don't think humans know to behave any better, especially among the young and insecure. Expect to be excluded and rejected, to be chosen last, to be blamed for failing other's expectations, to never have personal power, to never get out from under, and to believe that never can change. Some individuals might be decent. Others will not, and don't expect fairness from packs.

And yet it isn't hopeless. You do have personal power. You see you can write, and who among your oppressors has that degree of skill or creativity? It sets you apart, even above, the pack. Even your trauma enriches your gift, so value it. On the other hand, don't focus exclusively on dystopia. The tone of your writing will set your mood, so include something more positive, especially involving humour, and maybe some stories where tables get turned. Use your writer's trained observation. You almost have a duty to study how people pick at those they can.

Next, you should maybe recognize that those outside writing aren't able to compete in your special area, so their put downs are at least unformed and more likely based in jealousy. Whenever that happens, have the courage to point it out. Force your accusers to confront themselves. It may be they undervalue your writing merely because they can't do it, so hold their feet to the fire.

As for those do write, only accept constructive criticism. You'll know if you're good or not, especially once you've found your best voice. It's not for others to criticize your writing into oblivion. Don't forget there's much in the saying “Follow the money.” If you're being slagged by some other writer or editor, this business is highly competitive and nobbling others is part of the game.

Written with love and I hope it helps.