Shaved Heads and Social Anxiety

My blogging sure has slowed down since the kids got older; a product of being a different kind of busy, and, perhaps, a lack of insane poop stories a la 2012-13. (I'm okay with that part.) 

That said, it's time for my annual blog entry. But we'll have to forget about the horses (who have since moved on) and other developments in the last few blogs for today. Tonight's is a less comical blog. I need to break from the usual sunshine and roses and discuss mental health, for my own mental health. It's still appropriate content for a blog titled "Lyssophobic", aka the fear of going insane. Kidding not kidding. 

Most of us, myself included, present only the most happy and beautiful bits of our lives on social media. It makes sense, of course—why air your dirty laundry? Nobody wants or needs to see that. However, it paints the picture of a perfect life, of having it all together. Beautiful family, beautiful home, fun adventures: the highlight reel. It fosters jealousy over false realities.

So here's my little break from that. I need to lay it all out. I need to help you, the general you, understand. And I need to seek validation from others who might feel the same, to help me feel less like a crazy person, specifically regarding impulsivity, depression, guilt, and social anxiety. Even without feedback, writing about it is my therapy session.

Have you ever suddenly wanted to chop all your hair off? Or go party at a club even though you hate clubs and parties (and you're probably way too old to be in one)? Or make a dramatic and immediate career change? Or run away on an impulsive road trip? Or get a tattoo or buy something extravagant or adopt a new pet right away? What is the motivation behind these urges?

People say chopping off your hair is a demonstration of your need to exert control over something, maybe when you feel like the rest of your life is out of your control. I don't disagree, but at least for me, it is more about an urgent need for dramatic change. The desire to cut my hair is the same need I feel to take a trip or get tattooed or get a dog. (Not to be confused with my normal, everyday desire to go on vacation and get dogs, of course. Hair cuts, trips, and pets are all very normal wants.)

What is the urgency all about? Do I feel trapped? Trapped in my beautiful mountain home with my beautiful loving family? Trapped by our spoiled first-world lifestyle? How disgustingly ungrateful. How pitifully self-centered. I'm pushing 35. An early mid-life crisis? No, because it's not a new feeling by any means. What is this void? What is my subconscious telling me? I mean, I'm certainly depressed and anxious about the current state of this country, but that's a whole other ball of wax.

Maybe it is just a need to control, but also a need to escape, to break free from the norm. Maybe it's just a normal mom experience. Maybe it's just a normal depression-anxiety experience. Maybe it's all of the above.

I need to vent. I've been feeling inexplicably down and wholly disconnected, all wrapped up in the guilt of not appreciating all the wonderful people and things I have. I feel alone. Overwhelmed. Lazy. Unmotivated. Lost.

I had a particularly draining social experience the other day. Other people with social anxiety will understand: you prep yourself mentally for days ahead of any event, and then need more days afterward to recover. I think this one caught me during this general period of blah-ness, and it amplified both. What might have been a typically awkward-yet-tolerable gathering was excruciating. So much lingering alone, awkardly aware that strangers were awkwardly aware of my presence; guilty knowing they might be feeling guilty about my aloneness, compiled with the awkward guilt when they leave their friends to talk to me out of polite obligation. Just a lose-lose situation for everyone involved.

And there's the anxious overthinking. Where do I go? Should I sit or stand? Would it be weird to closely follow the one person I came with? Would going back to the food table for a third time seem greedy, like who is this stranger eating all of our food? Oh but I need something to occupy myself and eating is a good distraction. I can't just look at my phone the whole time because that would be rude. How long can I look at my phone without seeming rude though? Oh thank god there's alcohol. Did I seem to eager accepting the offer for beer? How much is acceptable for me to drink? How many times can I go to the bathroom, and how long can I hide in there before people start wondering? Should I introduce myself to those people I haven't been introduced to, or loiter at a distance hoping the one person I know comes back? Where did he go anyway? Doesn't he understand what I'm going through? Why isn't he here for me?

It's amazing how alone you can feel, even at a fun party full of lovely people, sometimes even with friends and family. It's amazing how much stress can accompany a casual gathering. And it's very isolating to feel like no one gets you.

If that's you, then at least know that I get you. For whatever that's worth.

I'm not sure how the crippling social anxiety relates to my compulsions to shave my head or buy something crazy, other than perhaps they can both be linked to feeling trapped: trapped in awkward social situations or trapped in the day-to-day. Trapped in my own head. Trapped by my mind that prevents me from enjoying said social situations and day-to-day things like a normal person.

In any case, I'm still recovering—two days later. Maybe that's why I wanted to do something dramatic tonight. To help myself get the eff over it? Shrug.

I didn't do any of those dramatic things tonight, you know. I just put a splash of vodka in my iced coffee, finished painting some trim around the window outside, took a deep breath of the evening mountain air, threw some leftovers on a plate, and watched a movie with my kids. I like to consider myself a high-functioning anxiety-depression sort.

I recognize that I have so much to be thankful for. It's just hard sometimes, even if the struggle makes zero logical sense and you can hardly explain it to yourself, much less anyone else. I'm grateful for the movement promoting mental health awareness; these things are real. I have to remind myself that too. 

Insert thoughtful and well-written conclusion. I'm going to bed. 

With a snoring, farting pit bull right next to me. (Speaking of impulsively adopted pets! That's a story for another day though.)