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jamesqThere is some part of me that is broken or maybe it's just missing. That missing part is what in normal people would be called the ability to strike up a conversation with the opposite sex.
One of the things I'm in therapy for is social anxiety. After three years it's done me a lot of good. When I started, the idea of striking up a conversation with a stranger, or speaking in front of crowds, would have sent me into a terrifying fit of panic. Today I can do both of these things, so it's working. It took a lot of work to get to that point - like a muscle that was severely atrophied and needed to be worked and stressed so that it could grow stronger.
I've been fooling myself for years that it's done any good when I'm speaking to women I'm attracted to. The feelings all come back: The huge, heart-stopping pressure. The sweats. The inability to form a thought or a sentence. The uncontrollable instinct to flee at all costs. I'm the same I've always been.
Afterwards comes the shame. The knowledge that all my fears are misplaced and that even with that certain knowledge, I still can't do anything about it. The proof that I'm a coward.
If I had some grain of the ability I could exercise it and eventually give myself some level of function, no matter how crippled. But how can an armless man improve the strength of his biceps?
It's maddening because I'm improving in every way except the one way that counts. Hell, at lunch the other day an old friend was complimenting me on how much my confidence has improved in the years that she's known me. Another was trying to cheer me up by pointing out (erroneously) that I was the most attractive man in the room (of about fifty people at an SCA event) so I should feel better. Well I wasn't the most attractive guy there - I trivially spotted at least six men more attractive than me - so her comments came off sounding like one of those well-intentioned white lies we tell people to make them feel better.
Those lies work when people can't tell they're lies (however well-intentioned). At worst they sound patronizing and disrespectful of the target's intelligence. It's like telling someone they're the best swimmer in the pool while they're struggling to keep their head above the surface and not inhale a lung-full of water. I tried to point that out as a way of stopping the comments, but it just turned into an argument. Eventually I clammed up in the hopes that the conversation would drop and the torture would end. I didn't want to start alienating my friends so I ended up outside a lot "getting some fresh air".
And there were at least three women at the event whom I would have happily chatted up if I could. Quite the opposite happened though as I glanced at one a few times too often. I started feeling "quit staring at me creep" waves emanating from her by the end of the evening.
The whole weekend was like that. From the therapy session on Friday to the event on Saturday to the movie I went to by myself today. It was all a parade of reminders of those things I can never have. I felt like a poor orphan in the freezing cold of winter, his face pressed up against the glass of a warm and inviting restaurant that he will never ever be able to enter.
To top it all off, I went on an eating binge and now I feel bloated and sick. I've got to stop doing that as the only thing I've managed to accomplish is to put myself two pounds farther away from my goal weight. That'll take a few weeks to get rid of so I get to remind myself of all this crap again at the next few weigh-ins.
One of the things I'm in therapy for is social anxiety. After three years it's done me a lot of good. When I started, the idea of striking up a conversation with a stranger, or speaking in front of crowds, would have sent me into a terrifying fit of panic. Today I can do both of these things, so it's working. It took a lot of work to get to that point - like a muscle that was severely atrophied and needed to be worked and stressed so that it could grow stronger.
I've been fooling myself for years that it's done any good when I'm speaking to women I'm attracted to. The feelings all come back: The huge, heart-stopping pressure. The sweats. The inability to form a thought or a sentence. The uncontrollable instinct to flee at all costs. I'm the same I've always been.
Afterwards comes the shame. The knowledge that all my fears are misplaced and that even with that certain knowledge, I still can't do anything about it. The proof that I'm a coward.
If I had some grain of the ability I could exercise it and eventually give myself some level of function, no matter how crippled. But how can an armless man improve the strength of his biceps?
It's maddening because I'm improving in every way except the one way that counts. Hell, at lunch the other day an old friend was complimenting me on how much my confidence has improved in the years that she's known me. Another was trying to cheer me up by pointing out (erroneously) that I was the most attractive man in the room (of about fifty people at an SCA event) so I should feel better. Well I wasn't the most attractive guy there - I trivially spotted at least six men more attractive than me - so her comments came off sounding like one of those well-intentioned white lies we tell people to make them feel better.
Those lies work when people can't tell they're lies (however well-intentioned). At worst they sound patronizing and disrespectful of the target's intelligence. It's like telling someone they're the best swimmer in the pool while they're struggling to keep their head above the surface and not inhale a lung-full of water. I tried to point that out as a way of stopping the comments, but it just turned into an argument. Eventually I clammed up in the hopes that the conversation would drop and the torture would end. I didn't want to start alienating my friends so I ended up outside a lot "getting some fresh air".
And there were at least three women at the event whom I would have happily chatted up if I could. Quite the opposite happened though as I glanced at one a few times too often. I started feeling "quit staring at me creep" waves emanating from her by the end of the evening.
The whole weekend was like that. From the therapy session on Friday to the event on Saturday to the movie I went to by myself today. It was all a parade of reminders of those things I can never have. I felt like a poor orphan in the freezing cold of winter, his face pressed up against the glass of a warm and inviting restaurant that he will never ever be able to enter.
To top it all off, I went on an eating binge and now I feel bloated and sick. I've got to stop doing that as the only thing I've managed to accomplish is to put myself two pounds farther away from my goal weight. That'll take a few weeks to get rid of so I get to remind myself of all this crap again at the next few weigh-ins.
