This Week in Social Anxiety Disorder

by Anonymous

CW: description of anxiety

Monday morning: I’m walking to the Career Education Center with a donut in my hand. I’m eating it in the Pendleton parking lot when I think: there's a professor in Founders who I haven’t spoken to in a while. She gave me an extension on a paper once—a couple of papers, actually. But I haven't visited her since then. I guess I would have felt awkward having us both know the favor she did for me. I wouldn’t know how to broach the topic, or if I should even broach it. 

What if I run into her when I enter the building? What if I run into another one of my former professors? They’ll catch me with a mouthful of donut and peg me as unprofessional. I fight the urge to stuff the donut in my pocket. I really shouldn’t be crossing the Pendleton parking lot anyway. What if I run into a professor getting out of their car—I’ll be caught off guard and not know what to say. Or what if I don’t notice a car behind me and the driver gets annoyed? What if the driver is a professor? Even though it's 8:30 AM and no one is around, I feel like my every move is being scrutinized. 

Tuesday, early afternoon: My class has just ended. The professor is a witty, wisecracking man, a very engaging lecturer. I eat his lessons up, yet I can barely look him in the eye sometimes. Witty people intimidate me. As I hand him back my name card and prepare to leave the classroom, I attempt to wish him a good day. The attempt is unsuccessful.

Tuesday, late afternoon: Periodically, I’ll have an intense weeklong infatuation with a random celebrity. This week it’s Jason Momoa. I’m meant to be meeting some people at Clapp to work on a project at 5 PM, and I woke up from my nap at 4:50, so I’m walking there rather briskly, a tad disoriented. I feel a little flustered, and then a little ashamed, and then I’m wondering, what would Jason think if he saw me in my current state, tired and tardy? He’d scoff at me, chastise me publicly. What if I actually do run into him here? I should have never gone out in public like this.

Wednesday afternoon: On Wednesdays I have a writing seminar. It’s an intriguing, rigorous course where we laugh over snacks and comment on each other’s work and exchange profound ideas about society and feminism. It’s a friendly, intimate environment. The ultimate safe space. Yet I apologize before I speak, and when class is over I make sure to not walk through the door at the same time as anyone else. I can’t trust myself to keep up an interesting conversation, to navigate the art of walking and talking without error. And should I stumble, or say something stupid or offensive, whatever impression of me other students gleaned from the safe structure of the seminar will be ruined. 

Wednesday evening: It’s been a long day, and I kind of just want to be alone. I’m eating dinner and watching Fleabag on my laptop, spent and content. A friend-of-a-friend-who-I-don’t-know-if-I’m-friends-with walks by me, and we say hi. My eyes follow her as she walks away, and I see she’s having dinner with some other people. I consider joining, but decide against it and go back to my program. A minute later, I’m interrupted by the greeting of another friend. We catch up a bit and make plans to have a proper conversation later—there’s something I’m very eager to talk to her about but I’m just too tired at the moment. She agrees that it would be best if we spoke later, and sits at an adjacent table. That went oddly. I’ve hurt her feelings. People can notice that I’m being standoffish, and they resent me for it. 

Thursday morning: I was so lucky to get a job as a peer tutor. For a long time, I was confused as to why the professor liked me so much; I got a good grade in the course, but I struggled in the beginning. I get pretty scared when someone asks a question I don’t know the answer to, and sometimes I don’t talk as loudly as I should, and I feel awkward as I walk around the classroom, looking over students’ shoulders and asking how they’re doing. I hope I picked an appropriate seat—I don’t want to block anyone from seeing the board, but I also don’t want to seem too removed from the rest of the class. The professor probably thinks I look stupid right now, worrying over chairs, unable to make up my mind. Why can’t I just do things normally? I don’t even know what “normally” would entail.

Thursday evening: Finally, therapy. I recount the week to my therapist, talk about my triumphs and failures. She helpfully reminds me that it's the anxiety talking when I go off on a tangent about how I know this person hates me, or why that person thinks I’m rude or dim-witted. It’s vital and cleansing. I’m reminded that two steps forward and one step back is still an advancement.

Friday, early afternoon: I love Fridays. It’s great to end the week on a day with just one class. I still struggle to look the professor in the eye, but this time, I successfully wish him a good weekend. His reply is underwhelming, yet I still feel immense pride. Another defeated distorted thought. I remember them day by day, along with the distorted thoughts that prevail, so I know that regardless of what my mind tells me, this is progress.

For information about publishing articles anonymously, please contact the Editor-in-Chief (swentzel@wellesley.edu). From the Pandemic 2020 issue.