Frozen in fear: an essay on social anxiety
Social anxiety is a cold soulless being. She rips one icy hand through my chest and clutches my heart. Another hand reaches down and steals the breath out of my lungs.
I remain frozen in fear and time: stuck in this anxious state of mind.
The threat of judgement acts like a fog, clouding any prospect of reality. Her silver tongue pierces my sensible mind. Why are you so awkward? Why aren’t you more confident? Why are you saying all the wrong things? Of course, there isn’t any evidence to support these speculations, but she is capable of conjuring it up all on her own.
[Take a deep breath]
Keeping these intense emotions locked in the cave of my mind evokes a sudden urge for my body to escape: to free myself from the blistering stares of everyone around me. Avoidance from the cruelty of social anxiety feels sweet in the moment, like a lolly after a long run, an instant relief from overwhelming symptoms. It is a treat I admittedly find hard to ignore. However, the remedying effects are only temporary. The great monster still latches onto my back with every interaction, sinking her claws deep into my shoulders.
My surroundings are just beyond the curtains of doubt that surround me. My feet are planted on the floor but I have lost my ability to ground myself and regain composure. My usual casual inner dialogue has turned bitter and pessimistic.
[Feel the cool air go through your throat and fill your lungs]
My thoughts, although dark, are a reality I face, and there is no point sugar coating struggles. The absolute dread I am filled with at the idea of socialising, is a torment I hope people are lucky enough to live without. My social anxiety has started to grow around me like a virus, spreading into many crevices of my life.
As a writer, my thoughts help to generate new ideas for my writing. I am used to encouraging my ideas to run wild with possibilities and to reimagine the world in an optimistic light. But this skill has also allowed my intrusive thoughts to sprout like a jungle of weeds in the secret garden of my consciousness. My writer’s mind has become corrupted and overrun by anxieties, therefore my writing is sourced from a vulnerable place.
My words much like my emotions feel as raw as a freshly skinned abrasion.
[Your breath lays still at the bottom of your diaphragm]
Here I am.
Disoriented by the vertigo of constant emotional highs and lows.
Feeling like the only person with a lurking shadow.
[Your chest lifts as the air begins to rise]
This isn’t just my story, it isn’t the first time it will be told, and it won’t be the last. I have started to be more transparent about my battle and in doing so the support given to me lessens the weight on my heart and mind. There are hidden warriors in the community with their own phantoms. I have seen their relationships with their anxieties. They treat them like a friend, like a protector who has good intentions but harmful habits. I turn to my own and grasp her cold shaking hand. I realise she has no warmth because she has shut herself away. Someone has taught her to expect the worst from people. Her hands shake from the pressure to be perfect all the time. She clutches so firmly onto my shoulder because she is nervously awaiting to fend for herself. This entity becomes less of a demon and more of a guardian.
[The warm air passes through your nose]
There isn’t just one obstacle we have to overcome to end the battle, it is relentless. This journey is unpredictable, chaotic and sometimes tiresome: but it is achievable. At first, she was the enemy, but now I try to treat her with compassion. After all, she was trying to keep me safe.
Therefore when my mind starts to hone in on my thoughts, and the world around me becomes unfocused, I try to remind myself of the kindness gifted to me. The helping presence from those around me: the community, close friends and family who remind me I’m not alone. When the thieving hand of social anxiety starts to reach out for my breath as it hitches in my throat, I remember she is trying to look after me, but she doesn’t need to anymore.
I find my frozen world starts to thaw and life around me resumes.
I just remind myself.
Take a deep breath in … and out.
Isabella Hawkins is a Melbourne based writer and photographer. She has recently regained her love of reading, so in her free time you can find her with romance or fantasy novels. She loves immersing herself in Harry Potter and Marvel universes. When she isn’t reading, she takes nature photography. Isabella’s writing has been previously published in Livina Press.
You can follow Isabella on social media @thoughtsofahawk