The Internal Monologue of a Girl With Social Anxiety

A creative monologue. I thought I would post the thoughts of anxious mind, using myself as example to show you really do not know the running commentary that flows through someone else’s mind. You do not know people’s struggles.

I am not going to comment on the tragic death of Caroline Flack as I do not know the facts and it would not be right to do so. I am sure you have seen this quote a few times today on social media but, “In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”

A bar: an anxious monologue.

Let us set the scene. The lights are low, the music is loud and the dance floor is full. I am at the table. Slowly sipping my pint of Coors so it lasts longer — tortoise speed. My glass is empty now. A metaphor? OK, 10 minutes. Ten minutes is acceptable to sit here without a drink, right? That is fine. I time myself. Five minutes go by. Oh my god, halfway there. Six, seven, eight, nine. Oh my god. OK, I have to get up now.

Right, I can see the bar. It is there. It is literally two feet away from me, in clear-eye view. Get up, Cherie. I can’t. Cherie, get up. No, I can’t. People will look at me. I will look fat. They will all think I am fat. There are girls on the dance floor. They are dressed causal in jeans. However, they look so skinny and pretty. I have the most expensive dress on I could buy in a plea to feel the smallest bit of self-confidence. It is not working. I took what seemed like a thousand pictures before I left the house. Not right. Too fat, big head, dark circles, wonky smile. What is the name of that app? The one that completely changes the way you look?

OK, so I am getting up now and heading to the bar. Are people looking at me? I look fat. Do you think they can see the stretch marks on the tops on my thighs below this dress? Why are you even wearing an outfit this tight? I keep saying it because it is true. You look so fat. Fat, fat, fat pig.

I get to the bar. There is only me and one other person. However, the bar man takes like what seems forever to serve me. Keep your head down. Remember what to say. Do not forget, do not sound nervous and whatever you do … do not stutter your words. “Can I have a pint of Coors please with a straw?” A straw. Who drinks pints of larger with a straw? That is so silly, Cherie. You need to get over this. See the way he looks at you. He thinks you are weird now, you know that, don’t you? Is it even socially acceptable as a female to drink larger?

I fumble in my purse for the correct change. Why did I not get this ready before hand? I am useless. I hand over a 10-pound note. My hands shake, with a rumble stronger than Storm Dennis. Stop shaking, why are you shaking? I wait for my change. Why are you standing like this? Do not  stand like that, you know your bum looks flat when you stand like that. I see my reflection in a mirror behind the bar. God, you look miserable. Can you not smile? You are happy, right? So smile!

A boy stands next to me, close. Do not look. Hopefully, he will not notice you if you do not look at him in the eye. Head down, toward my feet. Why did I not paint my toenails?  I get my change and turn around back facing the boy and begin to walk the whole two feet back to my table. The girls from the dance floor are taking selfies. I cannot squeeze past. What if they look at me and think, “Why is she in this crimson, low-cut, red dress in this shitty local? Who does she think she’s kidding?” An attempt to boost my ever-declining confidence by overcompensating. I get back to my table with my drink. My anxiety eases as I am in familiar company. Maybe we can make this one last a little longer and maybe we will be a little drunker by the next time I need a drink. Therefore, I will have a small dose of humble confidence.

Maybe nothing. The cycle starts again. But we need to break this cycle. Did you hear me? I will say it louder. We need to break this cycle. Because it is all in your head, isn’t it? Nobody thinks this about you. You are magnificent. Your dress is magnificent and you look amazing.