i'm very socially anxious. all bodies around me seem to move in slow motion. i find myself almost completely still. i have a face, two arms, two legs, in a corner - this constant awareness of where i am standing is as present as my heart (which sounds rather like thunder) or my breathing (which is like lying by an ocean.) i think i outcasted myself, but in saying so.. i never believed i had a choice in the matter. i kept my head over paper so i would not feel my face flush upon trying to speak. i began to write of imaginary characters to make up for my lack of social interaction. full eight hour days of being unsettled, of either trying so hard it brought me to tears, or sitting in the background pretending i did not wish to talk. it's in human nature to say we never want our hearts most true desire out of fear it shall not come about. it takes bravery to speak of dreams.
you know, i don't really blame my alcoholic father, but in some sense i do not have the courage to answer him. my words lie in the corner of my mind, small scrappy words forcing their way into the maze of my throat between the rough and rusty uncertainty that tells me to keep silent. there is really nothing to say. except that i have let this bite on my skin grow, from not bringing words of anger to light. he always slept as though he was dead, a doll-like figure, snoring, a dribble of wine across his cheek.
it is as if i now know where i am. when i move, i do so with purpose and certainty. the stillness and silence was only an episode of my past. i sip this soft white tequila before work. my bubble of warm comfort which enables me to speak with a power years of therapy could not bring. i can meet the beautiful eyes of my customers and serve them with assurance.