Fighting to hide my social anxiety
I’d like to say that this experience turned out ok and that I got through the course without a hitch, but that wasn’t the case. I suppose you could say that I psyched myself out before the class got underway by believing that no other outcome was possible other than complete and utter failure and embarrassment.
Many techniques for combating anxiety consist of positive self-talk and relaxation techniques. The idea is to replace false negative thoughts with a more positive and realistic outlook. Although I agree that this is what is needed, I could never summon the techniques while in a desperate situation. The [tag]social anxiety[/tag] demon was too powerful – it simply blocked out all realistic thinking in favor of fear and negativity. Somehow, I could never imagine talking myself down before any [tag]public performance[/tag].
“Hi, my name is Drew.”
The words, echoing around an abnormally quiet room, seemed silly, weak, and pathetic. My voice was too soft, and the tightening of my throat caused an almost comical change in pitch. To me, it sounded like I hadn’t quite made it through puberty. I wished for a strong, masculine tone (a voice of authority), but there was no way I’d manage anything better. I also detected the start of a quivering in my speech – not horrible yet, but in 30 seconds it would destroy any shred of self-respect I had left. I waited for this because I knew it would happen, just as sure as I knew I would make a complete fool of myself in the space of 5 minutes.
The first few sentences seemed ok. Yes, I was visibly nervous, and the words came out weak, but I was still able to hide the [tag]embarrassing anxiety[/tag] that was boiling over inside me. My mind was racing to form sentences seconds before the actual words were spoken, as I stared directly at the projector screen and the list of suggested topics. It seemed that everyone else had the ability to at least look around at the audience (even the first guy was able to pull off a few [tag]nervous[/tag] glances at the crowd). I was aware that I wasn’t looking at anyone, and that I was talking directly to a projector screen, but I couldn’t force my glance away – I was terrified to make eye contact with anyone.
Basically, I was blindly trudging through the whole ordeal, hoping for the best. My heart was pounding through my chest, my breathing was erratic, my throat was tightening, and my speech had started to become very impaired. I was completely winded, and was therefore only able to manage a few words between breaths. I’m sure this looked very strange, yet I continued to fight and conceal what was actually going on. I could not allow anyone to see my weakness. I fought to maintain a normal demeanor; however, I doubt that I was fooling anyone as I heard my gasping voice shaking with anxiety.
Everything beyond the first few words was a complete mess. Was that quivering, high pitched voice even intelligible? I didn’t think so.
I was going through the motions now, like a machine performing a mundane task. I wasn’t trying to be dynamic and interact with my audience. I didn’t have a personable tone to my voice (in fact, it was an endless monotone). I was performing an unpleasant chore, and I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible – end of story.
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