Am I the only one who feels like this?
If you have been following my blog (which, let’s say you have, because why wouldn’t you? My blog is filled with cool tidbits on life and hot Asians; the internet’s top 2 attractions), you might know that I’ve been preparing to enter the next exciting stage of my life: debit card status.
Oh yes, online shopping all day, errday.
Also, I’m in college. #yay #Classof2018 #YOLO #grown #IDon’tKnowWhatToDoWithMyLifeAhhhhI’mFreakingOutSomeoneHelpMe
In the days leading up to this, I had been feeling pretty relaxed. Sure, I had the occasional panic about money/friends/food and other things accompanied with college preparation, but for the most part I was feeling pretty O.K. My main concern was “Will my clothes fit in my dorm?” not “Will I fit in my college?” Apparently, the latter was the one needing more attention. I have plenty of closet space. #yay
Here’s a pretty good example of how my days are going and will probably continue to be going: I wake up, groggy and wanting more sleep, eat a granola bar for breakfast (or raisins and Goldfish crackers which I’ve found to be quite a pleasing combination), go to class which takes around 10 minutes because this campus is HUGE, get back to the dorm, chill for a bit, prepare books for next class, go to that class, come back to the dorm, eat lunch by myself in my room, possibly do bits and pieces of homework, pull up Xfinity for Campus, watch anything, avoid socializing, listen to normal people having fun with other people in the lounge, take a shower, brush teeth, come back, watch more Xfinity, and go to sleep. Repeat. (Dinner is somewhere in there, I forgot.)
From this, you can probably infer two things: one, I’m a representative for Comcast, and two, I’m a loser.
One of those things is true. Hint: I would never freaking work for Comcast.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Is there anyone out there who can offer a full analysis on my condition? Preferably, someone with a psychology degree (masters, minimum) and is willing to be paid in raisins and Goldfish crackers?
It’s not like I don’t try. I do. I make conversation when I can. I smile at people in the halls. Sure, I’m not the life of the party but I’m a tiny, small-voiced Asian chick who’s been sheltered for 18 years. What can of party would that be?
So when people are out in the hallway, talking to others they’ve known for a couple days like they’ve grown up together in a small town in Mississippi (or in any other state, for that matter, I don’t know why I had to specify that particular one), I feel like I’m doing something wrong. Am I sending out a don’t-talk-to-me-I’ll-bite-you vibe? Because that’s far from my intention. I don’t bite people; maybe just a little nibble on the upper arm but nothing that would require serious surgery. So what is it that I am doing wrong?
Often, the answer to me seems simple, “Just go out and talk to people, you stupid loner,” says the voice in my head, whom I’ve named Charlie.
Of course! Why can’t I just inject myself into all the fun social functions on my floor? Like right now, instead of writing this blog no one will see, I can go to the lounge where they’re having some type of get-together. I don’t know what it is. Maybe a movie, maybe a game, maybe a cult meeting. I don’t know. I WANT TO JOIN THE CULT.
But I won’t do that. For starters, I’m exhausted for reasons unknown. At home, I’m more than wide awake at 10. And 11. And 12. And 1. Sometimes 2. If you read my blogs, you would know this.
Mainly, I’m just nervous. You know how some people have a “thing” about them? You can identify them by that “thing”? Oh, there’s Yolanda, the one with the nice weave (Racist Joke #1; apology #1). And there’s Trish,
the one with the booty shorts. And there’s Mike, the one with all the penis jokes (tell me that’s not the name of a “Friends” episode). And there’s Arnie, the know-it-all with the stupid name. Poor Arnie.
Me? I’m awkward. No, not Zooey Deschanel-awkward. My kind of awkward doesn’t get you a TV show and a Tommy Hilfiger contract. My kind of awkward lands you in the lounge of your dorm floor, looking around for a seat or a place to stand while everyone there is already deep in conversation with someone else, and you’re thinking, “Damn, I should have stayed in my room,” while you wander around the maze of people looking for someone nice to talk to; then, when you feel like your amount of awkward is getting too much it’s suffocating to you, you awkwardly leave thinking no one noticed you and everyone noticed you at the same time. How is that possible? It just is, because that’s real awkwardness. Or social anxiety, either way.
And sure, I want to get involved but, here’s another contradiction: I also want to just stay in my room and watch Good Will Hunting because it’s a good movie, and I’ve only been able to get through almost half of it. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck’s genius can not be interrupted for another second!
Also, I want to sleep. Because I’m tired. *snore*
I don’t think I’m getting this “college” thing right. If social life was an official class, I would be failing big time, and it has only been the first few days. I hope this professor offers extra credit.
Overcoming my shyness and gaining just a bit of confidence would surely help. I’m sure you’re thinking to yourself right now, “Aww, you poor thing, you’ll get used to it and make friends right away!” if you’re a suburban mom reading this in hopes of helping out your socially reclusive child, or “Oh wow, what a whiny bitch. Get some balls and just talk to people,” if you’re a fairly hostile internet user (so basically everyone else).
But I think my out-of-placeness goes further than that. Say, I do gain confidence (and unicorns suddenly became an existent species) and go out to the lounge to be a healthy, social person. I feel like, deep down inside, I can only tolerate all the social-ness for so long. Eventually, I will become tired or, the more likely, I will start longing for the time I can just go back to my room, watch a movie, read a book, and just be alone. I like being alone and part of that isn’t because I’m shy, it’s because while some people like to be around other people all the time, and some people like to kill others for sexual arousal, I like to be by myself a lot. Not all the time, just enough for me to gain inner peace in the midst of a hectic life. It, like the two previous examples, brings me pleasure. I am one of those people who honestly believe the best company you can have is yourself… or Mindy Kaling. She’s awesome.
So it’s not that I feel out-of-place simply because I’m not invited to crazy dorm parties, it’s that sometimes I don’t even want to be. Everyone here is jumping up and down making friends, and I am holed up in my room most of the time. Why can’t I be like them? Why can’t I be more likable? Why can’t others be more likable to me?
I used to not have a problem with being alone so often. That’s probably because I was home, and no one was there for me to compare myself to or to notice me being in his/her shared room all the time (sorry roomie), and so I had no social worries. I was content in my solitude and took pride in the fact that I didn’t need other human beings to keep myself entertained because me, myself, and Charlie were enough. Occasionally, for sanity’s sake, I would go out, watch a movie, take selfies with friends. I liked it. I also liked those friends, all of whom I had left when I went to college (but that’s the beginning of a whole other blog about missing friends/family. Stay tuned faithful non-existent readers). Now, there’s no comfort zone. No place to go and truly enjoy solitude. I’m constantly surrounded by people, and it makes me constantly anxious.
I want to fit in. I really do. But I think the only way for me to prosper here is to accept the fact that I am different from the lounge-partiers. I didn’t go out a lot in high school, I can’t give off a frequent aura of cheer and come-hitherness (because sometimes my mood is less “come hither” and more “get the f away from me, please, I’m on my period”), I don’t start random conversations easily, I’m not pretty (shallow point, I know, but pretty girls do have an easier time adapting, let’s be honest), and yes, I do like to dwell in self-pity sometimes. Alone. In my room. While Xfinity for Campus is on in the background. I am Lisa, here me roar.
But I will not accept it. At least not in the foreseeable future, because accepting means gaining confidence. That’s why there are confident introverts. They go on to become lawyers, Ivy League professors, and suicidal writers whose books your kids will study. They also like to give Ted Talks.
My goal for this year? To gain at least one friend. One friend who knows what it’s like to just want to be alone for a few hours, and then party til the sun comes down. A friend who I can force to watch Barbara Stanwyck films. A friend who has a 6.5-7 shoe size and is willing to share.
If not, my goal is to find that friend somewhere within myself (not Charlie, that’s a sarcastic voice in my head that makes me feel both saner and crazier), which I guess is the goal for all shy introverts. Find yourself and be yourself. Hope everything else falls into place.
I also have a question I aim to find the answer to: Am I a seahorse in a fish pond, or are there lots of other people who feel this way? If yes, let’s get together and watch YouTube videos.
Your beloved and nervous blogger,