Introverted kids don’t make many friends. That’s definitely a lesson I learned pretty early on. I’ve always been introverted and quiet, one of those unassuming people that don’t explode until you get to know them. Like a dusty firework lying in somebody’s shed – grey and dull until you give it a spark, then BOOM. Well, I’m not quite that exciting.
I’m one of those people that finds it difficult to start conversations for fear of coming cross as annoying, but once the conversation begins, I can talk for days. I’m afraid of approaching people, yet love to make new friends. I’ll keep my head down to avoid eye contact, but hate the feeling of being invisible. I’m a performer that’s afraid of perform, a writer that doesn’t dare write, a public speaker with a bolt holding their throat closed. A walking paradox.
Suddenly noticing that you’ve begun to cut yourself off from everyone you know can be alarming to say the least, and also rather problematic, considering you now have nobody to share your fears with. You feel isolated and alone, with nowhere to turn, because you have unknowingly painted yourself into a corner, just like this guy: Dang, you say to yourself, knowing that this time, it’s all your fault. It’s one of those things that you never realise until it’s too late. You don’t notice the hole in the bottom of your boat until you’re waist-deep and no desperate bucket flailing will do you any good.
This is exactly what I’ve been doing, only I know that the barriers are only mental. Once again I’ve pushed away the people supporting me, thinking that they didn’t care or didn’t understand or had the wrong idea or in fact hated me, and all of a sudden I’m back, friendless with next to no communication skills, back to square one. I’ve made excuses to avoid socialising and communicating, built mental barriers of fear and mistrust to keep the teachers and doctors out.
But now that I can feel the lies I swore never to tell tickling my tongue, opening up seems about as likely as flying to Saturn in a paper aeroplane with pyjamas on. So basically impossible.
I know that I have to be the one to take responsibility and speak up, but that just isn’t happening. For now though it’ll just be onwards and through, I’ll strap on my seatbelt and maybe I’ll make it past Mars. The best plan of course, would be to stop this ship before it takes off, but I’m the only one on board and I forgot to install an ejector seat.