Social Anxiety: My Inner Pain

Toilet stalls. Can there be a more depressing sight than the tiny cubicle of a rancid, men’s watering hole? Yet I’ve spent more time inside one of these festering tardis’s than is surely good for the health. Not through illness. Not because I need some time to compose myself. Not as shelter for a panic attack. Just because I’m so alone.

School break-times. Work lunch hours. And now, waiting for people to arrive and fill up a club, so I don’t stand out so obviously as the only wretch there alone. Pathetically drinking myself into oblivion just so I have the confidence to speak to a girl. Sometimes it’s a good place to be though. Where else can you tap out your powdery lines, crush them to a fineness suitable for the delicate nasal cavity?

But then I have to ask myself;

“What would I have done without the anonymity of these four walls for all these years?”

Totally exposed to the cold stares and oppressive thoughts of the others. Of them. The ones with lives. The ones who taunt me. Oh, they might not be doing it directly (though I just know some of them are) but every laugh and every smile and every hug and every high-five (god, how I LOATHE the high five) is just being waved in my face like a red rag to a bull. Every kiss a poisoned dart to sedate the beast, crush him and set him to the earth, becoming weaker and weaker with every brush of lip upon lip. Fuck you! Fuck me. I hate being so bitter, so jealous. Negativity consumes me.

But at least I’m here. At least I’m trying. I might need some brown-flecked little pills to get me here but at least I’m here. The alternative is another four walls that have seen enough tears to flood a low-lying Pacific island, enough anger to ignite a right-wing rally and enough crazy thoughts to send the most enlightened monk insane. Maybe I am already.

Maybe choosing to sit on a piss-stained porcelain throne at midnight, drinking tepid, over-priced, Italian lager that I don’t even mildly enjoy the taste of, listening to foul-mouthed chavs hocking up barrels of phlegm, whilst the rotten stench of faeces wafts across my palate, is the very definition of madness.

One more hour though. If I can just get through one more hour, it’ll kick in. The euphoria. Waves and waves, washing over me, through me, sending my mind into spasms of pure ecstasy. There’s no greater feeling. Well, none that I’ve experienced. Does it matter that it’s artificial when this entire world is but a figment? It’s the highlight of my week, month, year, life. Take that away from me, what do I have to look forward to? Work? A bigger prison cell than this cubicle, only jammed full of characters I spend all day hoping don’t despise me enough to direct a racial epithet at me. And for 8 hours a day. Well, 7 if you take away lunch in the toilet. At least here, I only have one hour to wait it out.

It’s an hour without distractions though. 60 minutes of creeping darkness. 3600 seconds to keep the wolves at bay. I guess I’d be texting now, if I had friends. No, you moron, you wouldn’t even be in this situation if you had friends! You’d probably be having dinner at a cozy restaurant, a game of poker over Kung Pao Chicken, or maybe even snuggled on the sofa with your arm around a sultry vixen, discussing music, literature, travel and dreams. Not here, hoping someone doesn’t hammer the door down and catch me with my trousers round my ankles and a rolled-up tenner up a nostril.

THAT WAS THEN…….

I could go on. I’ve over 20 years of this shit stored up, believe me, I could go on! But it’s not where I want to go and to be honest, those aren’t the kind of thoughts I have any more. I’m so positive now, it’ll make you sick! For me, I’m not in that stage where I need to vent or to talk through my anxiety. That’s because, guess what – IT’S NOT THERE!!! It’s gone. And I want to show people what life can be, what it feels like without it. Anxiety CAN be eradicated and much quicker than you might think. So please read my free PDF:

“How I Crushed Anxiety TWICE!! The easy way and the hard way”

and don’t make me write any more of this depressing stuff 🙂

P.S. I have to admit, it does feel good to get it out.

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