Sometimes I Feel Like Going Down.

I don't get it. Why is it so damn difficult to open my mouth? If I've got all eyes on me, I can't focus. I start shaking. My speech speeds up; this coupled with my quiet voice sometimes renders me incomprehensible, reinforcing the self-hatred. My mouth gets dry. I start inadvertently swallowing. I look stupid as hell.

It's really, really frustrating. I know for a fact that others routinely speak up. Other people have no problem connecting the impulses in their brains to their vocal chords. No one else gets anxious about the simple act of saying words.

No one but I.

Nothing New.

I've got nothing new to say, but I'm trying not to let too many days slip between my postings. I have a feeling that no one reads this anyway, nor will anyone ever find his or her way to this lonely little blog. I don't advertise it; there are no links to this site posted anywhere; no one even knows who I am or that this blog exists.

But I'm typing anyway, writing words for the ether to absorb.

And words. There are certain ways to say them. Did you know that, if you slow down your speech, you can achieve a slight calming effect? This method is called "slow talk" or "calm talk" by the Social Anxiety Institute. It's supposed to help combat that awful anxiety that can accompany the act of speaking up.

I liken slow talk to eating a really good meal. When you've barely had a bite all day, and you're lucky enough to have a delicious dinner placed under your nose, you might be tempted to wolf it down in one gulp. (Hello, me.) But if you have any sense, you'll slow down and savor every single bite, sucking on every morsel to ensure you don't miss a moment of its sheer delight.

I try to do the same with my speech. I slow down the flow of words just enough to lick the consontants and taste the vowels so that each syllable is complete--a whole, satisfying bite. I can sit in a comfy chair and repeatedly, slowly utter words all evening long.

This is obnoxiously difficult to do in real life, however. When the flood of anxiety comes calling, it's next to impossible to take a deep breath, slow down, and taste the words. I have accomplished this a handful of times though, and the slowing down, obviously imperceptible to the other person, relieves the anxiety slightly.

Maybe if I could master this seemingly simple technique . . .

This Shouldn't Be Difficult.

Advertising dictator David Ogilvy said that headings should not end with periods. Otherwise the audience will stop reading before they get to the body copy.

But this isn't advertising, and evidently you're still reading this.

For most of my life, I've loved to write. A blank sheet of paper cripples many people but inspired--excited--me. I could fill it with whatever I wanted to, whatever crazy fantasies I could dream up, whatever words flooded my mind. My thoughts could leak onto paper for others to enjoy. And I'm not some arrogant so-and-so--lots of people throughout my life have said, "You should be a writer." People who already love me. People who hate me. People with the letter E in their names.

I don't write so much anymore, however. With the exploding popularity of blogging and other anonymous forms of publishing, you'd think I'd be wallowing in sheer joy. But a blank screen terrifies me. An automatic stream of negative thoughts, swimming just barely under the surface of my consciousness, assails my creativity. It hurts. And I don't want to write anymore.

Today at work I had to write a paragraph. My company's sending out gifts to its friends, and I had to compose a few lines to tell recipients why they were getting free stuff. A painful chill shot down my esophagus, scratching my stomach raw. I kicked the assignment around in my head like a soccer ball, only I'm not athletic in the least, so I kept missing my target. I had a general feel for the rhythm of what I wanted to say, but the actual words eluded me. At first I tried to personify the company, comparing to a kindergartener; eventually, the words appeared in my brain, and I had to interrupt another task in order to scribble them down:

Nothing says "Celebrating Five Years in Business" like a limited-edition poster. And it's yours. Free. Just for being a friend of [company]. Thanks for your support.

I wasn't sure whether that would suffice. It seemed too short. Maybe too flip. Maybe too informal. Maybe it missed the point. Maybe better words could have been used. Maybe no one would get it. Maybe I'd have to do it over completely, using a different approach.

Or maybe it's just fine, and soon 200 people will see that note enclosed with their free poster.

Why the self-doubt?

Turn the Beat Around. But Without the Disco.

Whoa. That first entry sounded really negative. Apparently, if I'm ever to get better, I need to think positively. Sounds like an after-school special, doesn't it?

"Gee, Billy, if only you weren't so negative, maybe you wouldn't be so miserable all the time!" one kid would shout. Maybe he'd look Latino. Gotta have a diverse cast.

"You know, Pedro, you're absolutely right!" Billy, a white boy (which indicates his role as protagonist), would suddenly cry, as the inspiration truck of obviousness smacked him. "All this time, if only I'd known--being happy is truly up to me! Golly, this isn't such a lousy ol' world after all."

Then they'd get full-fat ice cream with some hot Asian chick and a nerdy dark-haired not-yet-woman with glasses. And maybe a puppy would tag along, too.

In the real world, however, changing one's thinking patterns is less like cheesy television and more like crawling from the bottom of a deep, dark pit when you've no strength left, your head swirls from a dizzying array of miseries, but you've got to fight gravity anyway, dammit, or you'll die. And for some reason, despite the crippling depression slicing your forearms, choking your consciousness, you don't want to surrender. Yet.

Peopleaphobia is my fake term for social anxiety disorder (SAD), which sounds just as madeup. News flash: No one is perfect. Everyone struggles with some kind of demon, even though some people prefer not to acknowledge their faults. SAD, or peopleaphobia, describes the stupid and irrational fear that some people have--of other people. Imagine that your entire life--everything: your thoughts, feelings, actions, words (or lack thereof), and so on--is under intense scrutiny, and if you mess up, even in the tiniest way, you'll be cruelly punished. And you're never spared, no matter how minor your transgression.

That's what it's like for me. Normal things, like chatting with clients, scheduling an appointment, or even being assertive, give me all kinds of anxiety. In fact, the sickness gets so bad that I'll do almost anything to avoid it. Obviously, this is unhealthy.

So I'm trying to change things. But, just like that kid and that woman sang in Pete's Dragon, it's not easy.

Peopleaphobia. Defined.

Sound fake? Of course it is. But peopleaphobia is a term I made up to describe the very real problem that cripples my everyday life.