Confessions of a Socially Awkward Being

Hi there. Thanks for inviting to your party. You might be wondering why I'm sitting by myself far away from all the fun. Don't mind me, I'm not a psychotic murderer scanning for new victims. I'm also not unnecessarily rude or unfriendly. I'm just an artist, so it's likely that I'm daydreaming about designs and plans and paint colours.

It's also quite possible that I'm trying to simply distract myself because my brain is melting with terror right now. My psychiatrist calls it anxiety disorder. I think I would just prefer being invisible.

If we happen to talk, I'll be the one who's "too nice". I will smile, laugh, quite often in the wrong places. And I will ask you questions, because I fear the awkward pauses (I'm scared of boring you). You will ask me questions too, because you're nice, and at some point, I'll start to open up about me and the work I love...

But even as you nod and smile out of good manners, I can tell when I have lost you. I'll know when your attention has left the building and you're only trying to come up with a gentle excuse to leave, which you probably will because it's a party and you want to have fun.

Sometimes, I will brave up and crack a joke, try to nudge my way into the conversation. But good chances are that you won't even hear me, because the others are louder. Their voices and stories are more confident than mine. So, as my self-esteem takes a kick in the crotch, I'll slowly lean back in my seat, crouch into a fetal position in my mind, and go back to my mental designs.

It's just safer for me to shut up and smile at the party, because I cannot keep up with your energy and confidence. And smiling is the easiest, the kindest thing I can do. 

Every now and then, when no one is watching, I will sneak into the washroom, or any empty room with a working lock, because I need a break from the crowd and constant loud noises. Even wallflowers don't like the walls closing in.

When it gets just too hard, I will sneak out. You will probably not even notice. And if you do, you, as a nice person, will gently try and stop me. But after I gently make a break for it, you won't miss me for a second.

You see, I don't flee social situations because I'm arrogant or because I don't like you. I flee because grinding my brain cells over and over again to find something to say, to be interesting enough for you, is exhausting. Watching you lose interest in me, watching the rest of the party effortlessly have fun, is exhausting. Because in social situations, I'm a preemie: I somehow manage to push my way out and be there, but I don't how to breathe without help.

The next time you have a party, you probably won't invite me, and I will totally understand where you're coming from. I'm a party pooper, the socially-challenged guest you have to try too hard to include. After two tries, you will give up and secretly call just your fun-loving friends.

In a way, you will be doing me a favour, sparing me the horror of socialising. Your rudeness will spare me the many minor panic attacks that I usually endure when crammed in a room with confident acquaintances. So, yeah, thanks.

I'm not being sarcastic. I would seriously rather be in my pajamas at home, knee-deep in my art

But in the off chance that you don't give up on me, you will be subjected to many crafted gifts. And perhaps, in due time, I will become the life of the party (the small ones).