Having social anxiety sucks.

I’m not good in social settings.  When I say that, I don’t mean I’m impossible to take out anywhere, because I’m a drunken, violent buffoon, but rather I don’t do well when surrounded by people I don’t know.  Small talk is a pain for me, so having to start conversation with total strangers is traumatic enough to make me break out into a rash.  If I was guaranteed not to make a complete ass of myself, which has happened on more than one occasion, I’d go to a club or a party or some other location where lots of people are gathered and just start talking to people about whatever pops into my head. I’d be a regular social butterfly, and truthfully, probably a billion times happier than I currently am.

The reason I haven’t done this before is because I’m a pussy.  Well, maybe that’s a bit harsh.  I have what I like to call “FoF” — Fear of Failure.  I don’t like to do things unless I’m guaranteed to succeed.  It’s why I never raised my hand in class unless I knew the right answer.  I didn’t want to be the person the teacher called on, only to blurt out the wrong answer, thus looking stupid in front of my classmates.  I also only look for jobs that require skills I know I can do, or expertise in software programs I’ve used before.  I don’t want to be hired for something, only to end up using unfamiliar programs or doing unfamiliar tasks.  The fear of screwing up in that scenario is too great.  It’s something I wish I had a better grasp on, because I see people like my sister, who are natural extroverts and are the lively, popular people, and I’m supremely jealous.  I don’t have that skill set, and I sorely wish I did.

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