It’s no secret that I’m socially awkward around people that I hardly know – people that give me the feeling that I have to be funny, hilarious and overly happy and chatty. It all starts with the smallest small talk, where I usually fail before climbing onto the next socializing level.
I wrote a short story on the last day of last year and didn’t realise that it was an actual warning to myself – which was not to go out. Though, I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially my other half. On the other hand, I was also slightly consumed by the bliss that I’d completed a little short story in one day. Maybe I wanted to celebrate that, or maybe I just wanted to do someone a favour. I don’t know.
Not to mention that I was ill in the first place, I wouldn’t have thought it would get worse than it already was.
By the time I arrived at my workplace, I could already feel cold sweat rolling down my back. People were everywhere and wanted to talk. What’s wrong with that? But you won’t understand how I felt.
That party mode look in their faces–it made me want to kill each one of them; that was when I knew I didn’t belong there and should’ve never come that night. Trying my best to still fit in somewhat, I socialized as best as I could, though it seemed like whatever I said, I would be accused of being “anti-social,” “The Grinch,” or “negative.” Even though I didn’t think I was that bad. And for the third time, I knew I shouldn’t have come. Those people would’ve been better off without my presence, even my other half.
I am saying this in all seriousness.
Just to cut the story short, I had signed up for a party to which I didn’t want to go, in which I didn’t fit in, with a bad cold and a small voice. I couldn’t communicate in that goddamn scally bar. And then I forgot that it was NYE, and the bar was filling up, leaving me squished and pushed around. The ugly music got louder, too. People I knew were looking at me, almost pitying me, but not talking to me. Of course, I was sick and couldn’t shout.
I told myself to stick around till at least midnight, so he could give me that kiss he wanted. Then I probably would’ve pissed off without a word because I was suffocating.
Though that happened a little too soon, unfortunately.
Tears began rolling down my face, I couldn’t breathe, and I began depersonalizing myself, as though trying to escape my body as best as I could.
My other half had to take me home. Having gotten a taxi, I pointed out that he should go back into the bar and have fun, but he didn’t and went home with the miserable me I was in the last half hour of 2014. In the cab, I was gasping for air.
During that panic attack, my immune system sank to 0, and I caught the first virus that was in the air. My cold got worse, and I lost my voice.
About five days later, I found out that I had laryngitis. So, this means I haven’t spoken properly since last year, and I haven’t missed it much, either. I’m glad of what I am accomplishing during my recovery. Losing money on the work front is no longer a big deal to me. Mourning over my bad decisions doesn’t bring me any further anyway. Maybe I didn’t really want to be on my own on NYE, and I knew how much he wanted to go out to catch up with friends, and I didn’t want to bore him with a night in, either, even though he’d suggested it. He even thanked me for going out! He’d really wanted to party.
I forgot how goddamn disastrous the NYE crowd could be. I proved myself to be too weak to bite myself through that night, and I’m sorry if I disappointed anyone. I should’ve listened to myself. The second half of 2014 wasn’t really the best, and I’m glad it’s over.
The rest is not important. Except that I’m looking forward to whatever’s new and not being judged for who I am. Since no one knows I am/was trying hard.
