You  would not believe the little talks I have with myself just to function in public some days.

“Self, you can do this. Just put on some pants and go out there.” The pants comment is literal since summer weather often means I don’t bother to put on pants just to work at my comfy office in my own house. Or maybe the lack of pants is contributing to my social anxiety? What if I forget to put on the pants and go out there anyway? I do that with shoes sometimes, just get all my stuff together and start walking out of the house and then realize, when my feet hit the hot pavement, that I’ve forgotten something. That’s right after I squeal because my feet are burning.

Right, shoes.

And pants.

These are two issues contributing to my reluctance to be seen in public, but even so, they can be solved, at least theoretically. Put on shoes, put on pants, and voila! I’m acceptable again!

So one would think. Look, I’m not entirely blind to my charms. I have a certain flair for interacting with people, though it often involves sitting silently while the crowd ebbs and flows around me. I am a rock, I am an island . . .

No I’m not.

People scare me. You, and you, and even you over there. You’re all so unpredictable. What if I say something that makes you laugh? Will you expect me to be funny again? The pressure! I can’t take all the pressure! What if you think I’m stupid? (So what, my brain tells me, the logical part, it’s not as if you thinking it makes me stupid, or we’d be in a pretty strange world.) What if you think I’m an oaf? (Again, see previous aside.)

So I don’t know what it is about you that scares me so. You’ve always been nice to me. People, I mean. You in particular, I can’t say for sure, but I think so, if we’ve spent any time together, or we waved at each other on the street.

Now, there are people who legitimately scare me. Those who lack insight and aren’t very nice about it. Those who make threats and brandish weapons, and those who think that marginalizing others makes them more important. Technically, they don’t scare me as much as they just irritate the hell out of me. We’re not talking about them though. Just me and ordinary people. As an ordinary person myself, and by that I mean, well, unless one of us can read minds or leap over tall buildings in a single bound or fight crime with laser beams coming out of our fingers, we’re all pretty ordinary, there’s absolutely no reason for me to even have social anxiety.

No reason at all. But occasionally it pops up and bites me in the ass, and I realize I’m scared of people.

That’s like looking in the mirror and being scared of the reflection because, let’s face it, I’m people too. And occasionally I do scare myself, but that’s when I don’t recognize that somehow I’ve become this older version of what I used to be. I don’t feel older, so how did this happen?

Maybe I think now that I’m older I’m less visible. My visage has aged along with my attitude, which doesn’t mean either of us has really matured, just that we’ve gotten older. Maybe, since I occasionally don’t recognize the person I’ve become, you won’t either. Maybe you won’t see who I really am in here.

Well, it’s a possibility, right? Better, my sneaky subconscious says, if I hide the inner and outer me, and then I won’t have to worry about it.

I could far too easily become a recluse and never see the outside world. Of course, that would become boring fast, and I really do like to go out and see people. I LIKE people! Rather a conundrum I have here, don’t you think?

I suppose I could just keep throwing myself out there and carrying on as if I have no hang-ups. That’s how y’all do it, right?