#oneaday Day 868: Enforced Merriment

The Queen has been on the throne for 60 years. Yay The Queen.

In Britain, despite the fact that we spend roughly 98% of our time being completely oblivious to the continued existence of the royal family (apart from those few members who regularly appear in OK Magazine and have subsequently developed obnoxious and probably quite disrespectful nicknames), it is actually the law that anything vaguely celebration-worthy that involves said group of royals must be celebrated with a Street Party, with non-participants being taken to the Tower of London to be pecked to death by ravens.

As such, there was a Street Party today on our street. I was coming back from my evening of board game and curry depravity and I had work to do, so I really wasn't feeling it anyway, but then my social anxiety kicked in and I was reminded of why I hate this sort of thing quite so much.

I loathe, despise and detest enforced merriment — the feeling that you "should" be somewhere and that you "should" be having more fun than you actually are. Enforcement could be unspoken (a simple feeling that you "should show your face") or explicit (someone outright saying "oh come on, come and see these people!" in such a way that to say "well, no actually, the very prospect fills me with a crippling sense of outright panic" would make you look like A Right Bastard rather than someone suffering from an actual problem). The effects are the same though — a feeling of dread, the thought "I don't want to do this" rattling around your head and, while the socialisation is actually going on, a constant and intense desire to find an excuse to leave or, in extreme cases, to simply bolt as quickly as possible.

The reason I don't want to be in that situation is generally nothing personal to the people I'm supposed to be socialising with — our neighbours seem like a perfectly nice little family, for example — but it is simply part of the whole social phobia. I feel pressured to put myself in that situation, and then once I'm in there, there isn't an easy escape route to get out of it, which makes me panic.

I think the main problem I have with occasions like this is the fact that they centre around small talk, which is something I can't do very well. I tend to think about things a lot before I say them — to a fault, sometimes — and small talk just doesn't work if you're contemplating and considering every single thing that you say. "Should I mention the weather?" I think. "Or does that make me sound like the most clichéd twat ever? Should I crack a joke? What if it falls flat? That's the worst feeling in the world. Everyone's looking at me. Say something."

Oddly enough if I'm in a professional situation where I have a reason to be interacting with strangers, I'm absolutely fine. If I'm running an event, or meeting and greeting customers, or standing up on stage and presenting to lots of people, I have no problem whatsoever in talking, making jokes, being charismatic and charming the pants off people. (Not literally. To my knowledge, anyway.) But take away that sense of context and purpose and I'm fucked. I feel panicked, and all I really want to do is run away and do something — anything — rather than talk to these people I feel I have nothing in common with. I build up resentment, and then I feel guilty about resenting these people for simply being more social than I am, and the whole vicious cycle goes around and around and around until I find some convenient excuse to extract myself and leave, never to return. (Today, I had work to do, so I was able to go and hide for a bit while I did that.)

This particular aspect of social phobia/social anxiety/shyness/whatever you want to call it is why I never really got on with the concept of "going out" for the sake of going out, or going "on the pull", or indeed in speaking to anyone I didn't already know somehow. I count the few occasions that I have successfully managed to initiate and carry on a non-essential or non-professional conversation with a stranger as huge personal victories — justifiably so, in some cases, as some have led to long-term friendships, such as my utterly nerve-wracking first words to my now-friend Cat while trapped in a lift (well, not "trapped" as such… we were both riding it, and it was in full working order) with her on my first day of a pre-term music course at university.

I won't lie, this particular phobia is a real pain to deal with at times, and I really wish I could be free of it. That won't happen without hard work over a long period, however, and I'm sometimes not sure I'm ready to confront this particular problem head on.

#oneaday Day 820: Disagreement

I hate arguing. In fact, I'd go further than that. I hate disagreeing. I have absolutely no doubt that this particular aspect of my personality is a side-effect of the social anxiety that I suffer from, but it sometimes makes discussions hard to participate in.

I'm fine with expressing my opinion and feel I can argue my viewpoint pretty convincingly in most instances — this blog is filled with numerous examples of that, as longtime readers will doubtless know. It's in the things that happen after my opinion has been stated that things get a little trickier — namely, if someone comes along with a diametrically-opposed viewpoint and the willingness (and/or ability) to argue until they're blue in the face about how much I'm wrong and how they're absolutely right.

Most of the time, these disagreements don't descend into "you're an idiot", but my discomfort with disagreeing makes me sometimes feel like it's implied. I like to think that I go through life as a fairly likeable sort of chap and take great pains to try not to offend anyone (swearing and masturbating stickmen aside, obviously — I'm referring specifically to personal attacks here) so having someone disagree with me and argue their case in an impassioned manner is a frustrating, disquieting experience that often makes me wish I had kept my mouth shut in the first place.

Part of this is due to the fact that I tend to cycle negative experiences around and around inside my head involuntarily. Even a seemingly innocuous, irrelevant discussion that might have gotten a little bit heated somewhere along the way is enough to keep me awake at night sometimes — and those rare situations where someone is actually genuinely upset by something which has occurred? I can pretty much forget about remaining calm, instead preferring to stare into space, replaying the incident in my mind and wondering what could have happened if things went a little differently.

It can happen before time, too. If I know there's some form of difficult conversation coming up, I'll find myself role-playing it in my head, imagining what might happen. Inevitably my mental conversation has the worst possible outcome, usually descending into someone getting yelled at or thumped. This does at least make having the actual conversation pleasantly surprising almost without exception, since no-one ever gets thumped and hardly anyone ever gets yelled at.

I guess part of the frustration over all this is to do with power, or more specifically, a feeling of powerlessness. If you know (or at least believe) that your opinion on something is inherently sensible and others seem to think that you're speaking gibberish, it's disheartening — particularly if said opponents of your viewpoint are aggressive and stubborn in their dismissal of what you have to say. It's particularly disappointing and upsetting when people whom you like and respect fall into this category, too.

Nine times out of ten, the argument just wasn't worth having in the first place, too. So what I have taken to doing most of the time these days is just stepping back before jumping in to a debate, thinking "will this get heated? Is it worth potentially getting upset over?" and then — only then — making a decision on whether or not to proceed. In some cases, said decision leads to launching a discussion and dealing with the consequences. In others, it leads to walking away — deleting the unsent tweet, closing the comments section, biting my tongue. And in extreme cases, it leads to me feeling like the correct course of action is simply to remove myself from the situation in question and ensure it doesn't arise again — online, that means unfriending, unfollowing and/or blocking people; offline… well, you just walk away and don't look back.

Some people are built for arguing. I don't think I'm one of them.

#oneaday Day 799: Um, Fluttershy

A discussion with my friend Lynette earlier today (who, it has to be said, squeed rather enthusiastically at the news that I have been watching My Little Pony) saw us pondering, as so often happens with strong, character-led pieces of work, which My Little Pony was the most "us" — or at least the one we felt most able to relate to.

My answer — Fluttershy — is apparently one of the more popular ones, for a variety of reasons that I haven't explored as yet and am mildly terrified to, given the deep, deep rabbithole that sites such as knowyourmeme and TVTropes can be.

I imagine, given her timid nature, that there's at least an element of crossover between Fluttershy fans and Hanako fans — a category which, if you recall, I count myself firmly in. Her endearing meekness, anxiety and loyalty are character traits I can well and truly understand, and I know I have more than a few similar traits myself.

Take the fact that she has a clear case of social anxiety, and is nervous about showing off her talents except when absolutely necessary or in a situation where no-one can judge her. When taken along on a perilous journey to use her talent for "parenting" (for want of a better word) to convince an unruly, belligerent dragon to go and sleep somewhere else, she's (understandably, I feel) too scared to go in there and do her thing, even in front of her friends. And only partly because she's dealing with a fucking dragon.

I know too well how all that feels — of the difficulty and anxiety which surrounds using your talents and abilities in "public", even in front of people you love and trust. (Not the "dragon" bit.) I know, for example, that I'm a decent writer and that people enjoy reading my stuff, but I hate hate hate anyone watching me write. I have absolutely no idea whatsoever why this is — whether it's anxiety over people "backseat editing" or judging the things I've written before I've finished is anyone's guess. I just know that I hate it — but I like showing it off when it's finished, namely when I can hit "publish", light the blue touch paper and just walk away. (At this point, my fear of negative, destructive feedback comes into play, but that's a whole other matter.)

Same thing with music, really. Practicing is a necessary part of being able to play complex pieces of music, but I hate people listening to me practice. Performing? Fine. Playing the same bit over and over and over again until I get it right? Well, that's something to do with headphones or when no-one's in the house. Something of a combination of perfectionism ("if anyone's going to hear this, I want it to be right") and worrying about the judgement of others ("they won't want to hear those three bars repeated over and over and over! They'll tell me to shut up, or hurry up and get it right or something"), perhaps? I don't know.

Same with doing anything vaguely creative, in fact. I hate being watched doing something like that. Perhaps it's because doing something creative puts you in a vulnerable position where your "soul" (or whatever) is on display, and anyone could quite easily strike it for massive damage with an unkind word or an ill-timed snigger. It's something I could really do with Getting The Hell Over, but it's also one of those things that has indelibly stamped itself onto my personality over the years.

Whatever the reasons for it all… Um, Fluttershy? I feel your pain, girl.

#oneaday Day 554: Telephobia

If you phone me, it's entirely possible that I won't want to talk to you. I might not even answer. I'm not being a dick, and I still like you, I just hate talking on the phone.

Actually, it goes deeper than that. I am fucking petrified of talking on the phone.

Here's what happens when I receive a phone call:

Phone rings.

"Shit! My phone's ringing," I think. "I wish my ringtone wasn't so loud/embarrassing."

I mute the ringtone and look at the display to see who's calling.

"I don't want to answer that if I don't know who it is," I think if I see a blocked number. "They must have bad news for me or want to yell at me; I must have done something wrong," I think if I see a number for someone I recognise.

"But wait," I then think. "Wasn't there that thing I was hoping to hear back from? Maybe it's that."

"Oh, but what the hell will I say?" the irrational side of my mind says. "You have enough trouble dealing with people in person at times, you can't fill awkward silences on the phone with hand gestures or pretending to cough or something."

"Just do it," says the rational side of my head. "What, seriously, is the worst possible thing that could happen?"

"I don't want anyone to listen to me on the phone," chimes in the irrational side of my head. "But if you must, answer it." I disappear into a room (or outside if a convenient room isn't available), close the door so no-one can listen in and take a deep breath, preparing to take the call.

Unfortunately, by this time, my voicemail has usually taken over and a whole new set of anxieties take the place of the original fears. I see a voicemail message come in and I'm hesitant to listen to it just in case it's someone, again, yelling at me. I don't generally give people reasons to yell at me, but still the natural assumption for me when I receive a voicemail is that it's someone yelling at me, particularly if I've had something important to do recently and I'm paranoid that I may have forgotten to do any or all of it.

It's no better when I have a phone call to make. Here's how that goes:

Look at phone number written down.

Look at phone.

Rehearse start of conversation in head, or at least attempt to.

Wonder what might happen if person on other end of phone deviates from script in my head.

Panic a bit.

Look at phone number again.

Rehearse alternative start of conversation in head. Wonder what the other possibilities might be.

Stare at phone for a bit.

Pick up phone. Start to dial number.

Stop.

Wait.

Think a bit more.

Swallow heavily.

Put down phone. Go and do something less stressful, like giving haircuts with a chainsaw.

(As an aside, oddly enough I seem to be just fine with "professional" phone calls. It's the more "personal" calls that I have difficulty dealing with. I worry that the person on the other end will judge me, misunderstand my long silences or call me a twat.)

I hate this part of myself. It's a genuine phobia, irrational and all, and a bit of casual Internet research suggests that I'm not the only person who feels this way, not by a long shot. It even has a proper name — telephobia (or, depending on who you talk to, the tongue-twisting telephonophobia or simply "telephone phobia") — but that doesn't really make me feel much better about it.

The solution to it is, as suggested by several people, to deliberately put myself into situations where I have to make phone calls. I've done temp work that would have involved answering the phone. I couldn't do it. I froze up, petrified, whenever the phone rang. I had to speak to my temporary boss almost in tears telling her that I just couldn't answer the phone. Deliberately put myself in that situation again? Sadly, it might work — but I just don't feel up to it, yet.

The phone is a pain in the arse. Even if I actually liked talking on it, I'd likely still think it was a pain in the arse. It's obtrusive, it interrupts things, you can't do anything else while you're talking on the phone (unless you have one of those Bluetooth headsets, and then you just look like a tit, plus people can then hear you pissing/making a sandwich/walking around outside/watching TV) and it's impossible to end a conversation effectively.

This hatred is, I know, all part of the "irrational" part of the phobia and I'm sure that if I was able to cope with it, I'd probably, in fact, actually quite like talking to people on the phone. But while a phone ringing and the prospect of having to answer it completely terrifies me and fills me with a sense of panic and dread… no thanks. I'll stick to forms of communication I'm actually comfortable with and can take my time over, thanks.

For now, anyway.

#oneaday, Day 66: The Time Has Come

I'm going to write this in something of a rush because I need to go to bed. But I'm not going to default on my blogging just for pesky tiredness' sake! No, it might be a short, crap entry, but dammit if I'm not going to write on right now.

Anyway.

Tomorrow, I fly to Boston for PAX East. It's strange to think that this time has finally come. When I think back to early in this whole "one a day" experiment and the things I said, wondering whether or not I'd be able to go, wondering whether I'd be able to get out of my job, wondering if I'd ever make it to the States to see my friends whom I only know by their Twitter avatars and occasional glimpses of embarrassing photos on Facebook.

Now, that fantasy is a reality. Well, it will be very soon, anyway.

There are two emotions in my head right now. Immense excitement… and nerves. Almost like stage fright.

Anyone who's ever met anyone they've talked to online for a long period of time will know that the first face-to-face meeting is always the hardest. People are different online to how they are in reality, and however much you can protest that the way you write or chat online is your "true self", the fact is that people will judge you when they meet you for the first time – subconsciously in most cases, but they're doing it all the same. It's that that always unnerves me – whenever I'm meeting new people for the first time, not just trusted and beloved online friends, but anyone. It's a side-effect of the social anxiety that I've suffered for as long as I can remember, but I'm determined not to let it get in the way of an awesome time. And it doesn't have to. I met my wife face-to-face long after we met online, after all. And yes, I probably was an awkward twat – still am – but that one worked out just fine.

The fact I've met some members of the Squadron of Shame before will help – especially given the fact that we got on well the last time we met and didn't (to my knowledge, anyway) want to tear each others' throats out with hammers by the end of our time together. I feel like I know a lot of the others very well already thanks to blogs, Twitter, Facebook, podcasts and all manner of other media that makes "Internet gurus" and "online entrepreneurs" drool with glee. So I think it's going to be just fine.

Doesn't stop me feeling nervous, but it's not a sense of crippling anxiety. It's more a state of wanting the "introductions" phase to be over so we can kick back with some beers and then hit the show floor of PAX East running. Because there's an asston of stuff to see, and there's a bundle of people I want to meet. Quite how everything will fit into those few short days I'm in Boston is anyone's guess – but I'm going to make a damn good try of it.

So tomorrow morning at 8:40, I board a coach bound for DESTINY. That's right: DESTINY. (Then I catch a plane which will take me the rest of the way to DESTINY. But the coach trip comes first.)

I'm clearly getting delirious. Time for bed, I think. Good night!