DON'T WANT YOU, BUT I NEED YOU (THE DUALITY OF SOCIAL ANXIETY)
"They fear what they don't understand...and they despise what they fear." - Janos Audron
I see you there, stranger, man with no name. Proverbial white board with only what you choose to express written upon it with your thick, black ink strokes. We've never met, but we should. We could have plenty in common; lots, even! You're a music fan, correct? Into movies? Video games? I'd like to consider myself a man of many interests and hobbies, some you could relate to while others you may find rather obtuse yet interesting enough to hear about. But in that same regard, I can imagine that you're the same, which is perfectly fine. There's all sorts of rhymes and reasons for us to get along. You seem nice, genuine, willing to give me the time of day should it be wished for.
I see you there, stranger, man with no name. Potential friend or associate with your own story on myriad things. Our conversations would no doubt be lively, full of mirth, riddled with agreements and conflict dependent on how we personally view things. I'm OK with butting heads...within reason...until it somehow escalates into negative emotions. But that won't happen, right? We see each other as peers, as emotional equals, and there's nothing that would ever bring about denigration or other such thoughts and beliefs, yes...?
I see you there, stranger, man with no name. Silently judging me from afar without even learning my name. What bouts of grand positivity or loathsome diatribes are you mentally creating as you read me from head to foot?
"Who is this guy? Where did he come from, and where is he going? What made him who, what, and why he is, and will anything down the line change any of it? This could be interesting enough to keep going; I've already started on one cover and the ensuing denouement just might be worth carrying on."
And yet, what bits and pieces will you claim and use as arrows in your quiver to shoot me down with? I mean, after all, it's happened before...oh shit, there's another bit of ammo. I didn't mean to let that slip. Who are you with other people? Other friends? Am I spoken of in jest? In glowing reverence? In storm-cloud-choked condemnation? How would you speak of me? And what would they take from that? I'm not a bad person...not completely, anyway. Truly, we're all flawed, we all have our own glories that shine and demons to fight, right? Why on Earth would that be the first to be spotted in me? And why would you shoot for such an action when those other people didn't even know I existed until just then?
See, few people really speak of just how strongly people could take the opinions and beliefs of others, especially regarding someone you've never met. We all know that a first impression counts for a lot, and having such polluted by hearsay, inaccuracies and just general lying many a time, could act as that one turn of the screw to either establish association or cause the whole of the structure to completely cave in on itself, more often than not completely out of your control. One would be surprised how fast word can spread, how the music you like, the hobbies you have, or even something as ordinarily innocuous as abstaining from alcohol would sully whatever finery your name would be clad in. One would be just as surprised on how quickly possible allies could turn on you without so much as a rebuttal on your part; no recanting, no objections, nothing of the sort, made all the more disastrous when you know for a fact that the information they have on you is incorrect and, at times, biased. What can you do, then? What trust is left after too many such circumstances?
I'm so sorry, stranger, man with no name. I didn't mean to judge you so harshly after just meeting you. Y'see, dealing with new people tends to bring about a cyclone of options and differing scenarios and sides to every story. Even the simplest of things is so very diamond-like, with all its facets and faces, where no one end is the same as the one preceding, alongside, or following. You have to understand, and it's nothing personal, for I see many people in the same chameleonic light. Singular folks, small gatherings, and especially large groups of people; friends, one and all, with me as a hanger-on with almost nothing to say. I don't belong with them, with you, with anyone, I know this; no one here is like me in any way, and even if they were I can't imagine what they would do with whatever I say, how they would interpret it. You speak up, and you're shot down. You remain silent, folded into your own life-preserving cocoon, and they just gaze upon you with resignation and pass on by. But is either one better than the other? Why do we need to be around people, anyway? In certain circumstances I understand it, but if all you know, all you've ever known, is rejection and levels of abandonment, then what's the point? What do we gain from this? And who are you judge me for that, anyway?
I don't want you here, stranger. Your presence confuses and angers me. I don't understand your interpretation of being "social," and such an alien concept . But I need you, I need the companionship. I need the connection and the friendship and all the benefits therein. But what of the risk? What of having it all torn away time and again? You weren't there for the dark ages, my (possible) friend, and the gods forbid you either experience that or, worse yet, bring it about again. I can't allow myself to be hurt again; all those weak points are too tender, targets too easy to avoid being struck. And yet, there's that jarring tug-of-war sensation, that leaping from being secure in my aloneness to feeling almost suffocated by the solitude, that confuses me just as much. It's damn-near schizophrenic. One half of my brain doesn't want you, but the other needs you.
What to do, truly...