In my newly discovered adulthood, I have been described as many things to people when we first meet, most of them being very accurate; such as sarcastic, eager, goofy, and a little weird. I like those words. I'll own those words. I've been known to awkwardly dance on the spot or jump to hold a door for someone over 12759 feet away. I've got quirks, and I'm okay with that.
One quirk I do not have though, despite quiet apologies to strangers after I leave the room, is being shy. If high school, college, and every personality profile I have ever taken has taught me anything, it is that I am an extrovert, and a pretty big one at that. I've loved performing and acting, and standing on a stage in front of hundreds of people for a very long time. I'll start loud sing-a-longs in a crowded room, and be the first to say we should start a game of some sort. I've organized events, hoping for a big audience, and I've given speeches hoping to have every eye on me. Even in my job as a host, I love introducing myself to someone new and cracking little jokes every five minutes.
I eat that stuff up.
So yeah, you could understand why I feel maybe just a little misrepresented when people call me shy. Shy is a choice, a personal preference. Whatever caused someone to apologize for me after I left the room, whether it was standing in the corner making no eye contact with people or finding something menial to do on my own while everyone else had fun - that was not what I preferred to do.
I would much rather be having fun, laughing and making a fool of myself, but right then it is not much of an option. When someone is experiencing anxiety, or at least when I am, that extrovert hasn't stopped being an extrovert. They've just forgotten how.
Imagine you and your family decided to go out to get ice cream, and you get so excited. You love ice cream. All you can think about is ice cream. If you could have ice cream every second of every day, you would probably cry tears of joy. So now imagine finally getting that beautiful ice cream cone in your hand, and you've forgotten how to eat. You know the general idea, and that it involves your face, but that's about it.
So you experiment, first dipping the tip of your nose into the cone and realising from the uncomfortable people around you, that that must not be it. So you get flustered. You press the ice cream against your cheek, feeling that is wrong also, and start shaking, smearing the contents of the cone all over your face, while you're certain the only thing everyone in the room must be thinking about is how you have no idea how to eat an ice cream cone.
At this point, on the verge of meltdown, you just drop the cone, and knowing you need to leave the ice cream parlor as soon as possible, slip out the back door.
That's me. When I least expect it. When I want to be social, and when I have no control.
Just instead of smeared ice cream, I deal in quiet one word answers, shotty eye contact, and sweaty, shaky palms.
Calling me shy is like saying the girl with the ice cream cone wasn't hungry. Just as telling me I'll feel better once I go out is the same as telling her she'll probably enjoy her cone more if she added some sprinkles and an extra scoop.
It may seem like the simplest way to explain why I spent the entire night at work in the back room, or why I slipped upstairs at the beginning of the party, but it is in no way true.
What is true is that I'm an outgoing person who struggles on a daily basis, and calling me shy downplays the strides I have made while living with anxiety.
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