When I Realized I Was Free From My Awkwardness

The embarrassing moments, the goofs and gaffes, and the agonizing memories to replay them. There's a strange lack of negative energy within me now.

Combo Breaker

Multiple situations in the past few days were undeniably awkward for me. Granted, I've had more in-person social interactions in a week than I can count.

Many milestones for my secluded self who hasn't seen the physical world since COVID destroyed everything.

I had my first in-person interview. I got my first (paid) job. I called a doctor myself for the first time and checked in to urgent care for my increasing arm pains alone.

Finally, today I completed my first workday, also picking up my first self-obtained prescription.

And god, I was a tool in most scenarios.

Okay, I think the interview went well. It was low-stress, but I realize I forgot to answer questions in full, and I had short lapses in my memory.

The phone call to urgent care, I feel I might've given long answers to the questions they asked. I mean, I got interrupted midway on one.

Then the actual visit, I asked for clarification on the simplest inquiries. You know like... where do I live? I didn't know if they wanted my full address or a general location or- I'm way overcomplicating things.

I said I suspected I had carpal tunnel, but the tests were negative. Now I'm feeling stupid, and somehow my symptoms magically alleviated from Level 9 to 3 on the car ride there.

Also, I've received this wide-eyed look from the other person multiple times I've spoken. Unlike in the past, I'm not even sure why. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it feels like a "Is this guy dumb?" look.

I said bye to my new co-workers when they left before me. Nearly everyone followed up with another farewell. Now I wonder if my voice was too low and they didn't hear me, or I came off strangely, or they think I ignored them. Sigh.

Finally, when I went to get my gabapentin prescription, someone else asked me a question, but I was zoned out, and the person at the register had to say "Sir?" to snap me out of it.

And you can guess where my overactive mind goes with this. Maybe they think I'm dense now, or I'm on drugs. I always look tired and expressionless. Maybe they think I'm using this prescription for other reasons.

"Man, I must look like a shifty guy."

These are true thoughts I've had, but something is wildly different. Other than a smidge of discomfort, I don't feel much dread. I don't think about those flubs every minute. Hell, I've almost forgotten them already.

Each of these scenarios themselves could decimate me for an eternity in the past. A void would open in my stomach as I replayed the shame countless times. There is no pit though – a slight tightness at most. It's a bizarre feeling.

It's... freeing.

I wouldn't even write about topics like this before, because it reminded me of the shameful embarrassment. The judgment others must feel toward me.

But if there's one thing I've learned about my anxiety – I'm not as remembered as I think. I've been on both sides now – the awkwarder and the awkwardee.

I certainly don't ruminate about others. Nothing happens if I do. No one gets stuck by lightning. The thought is ephemeral and dissipates into nothingness as everything in the universe does.

It goes to show my self-perception is in the eye of the beholder – me. I heard the platitudes about how "you're overthinking" and to "not take things personally." I still felt terrible.

Those ideas became my present truth, but it wasn't a choice or switch. My experiences have brought me to this point. Without trying, I forget things. The adverse reactions don't arise.

I didn't make an effort to create this outcome. My experiences molded me, whether voluntary or not. I'm content with the result regardless.

I notice I didn't put up an act this time. I speak with the voice I have and learn to use it without straining myself again. As mentioned, I don't even know what's strange – why I get certain reactions. Everything feels normal.

Concurrently, my conversations seemed more natural too. I'm not memorizing words to pass an examination, but speaking what comes to mind effortlessly. The silences aren't as harrowing either.

Not too bad for my first return to regularly seeing the physical world in years.

I've never felt so casual talking with others before.

I'm not perfect yet. I'm still quite stiff and robotic – years behind a screen accentuated that. But to even have some level of social acumen was unimaginable. I presume I'll only improve as I work more.

That said, I'm not complacent in this newfound comfort zone. I don't want to go full sociopath. I don't want to create unintentional discomfort – my job is literally to do the opposite. That begs the question – what does it mean to care?

When I was younger, my anxiety crippled me. The weight of the world fell on me, and I felt pressured, conformed, and surveilled to death.

Am I required to feel critically stressed to care enough? Does it demonstrate care if I feel nothing but contribute toward a goal? I hardly know what my emotions mean – or lack thereof.

It's strange to think another person may experience what I did when I feel nothing now. I could glance for a split second in one's direction and spark a deluge of anxiety.

"Did I look at them? Are they thinking badly of me?"

On the contrary, those who unknowingly induced my anxiety may as well have never seen me – just as I hardly see what's in front of me anymore.

The conversations that went well. The nice people I met. They are part of my story too. I shouldn't neglect to see their part in the whole.

Situations I felt I botched weren't necessarily so. The complete comfort I feel isn't always optimal either. I don't know how to gauge my emotions to improve my standing.

Nevertheless, I'll try to be the best of who I am – the best I can.