The Social Recluse

When I was a little girl there were few things I dreaded more than the party invite. The idea of being trapped at a friend’s birthday celebration was enough to cause my child’s heart to sink. And if it was a slumber party forget about it. The result of these invites would lead me inevitably into a fight with my mother, she could not understand why her daughter was so reluctant to go and have fun.

The thing was, it was not fun for me. It was an exercise in social torture. I would get so anxious being around all the other kids that I would inevitably say or do something stupid (or at least thought I did). I often left these parties feeling as though I had embarrassed myself in some unredeemable fashion. Sure there were moments were I really did have a good time, but typically I had worked myself up so much prior that my adrenaline (and even more dire my bowels) would keep me from really enjoying myself.

So I found that reading alone in my room was a far more desirable use of my time.  This past time kept me safe from making a fool of myself, though it did have the side effect of loneliness. This was a very hard thing to reconcile as a child; in fact it is a very hard thing to reconcile as an adult.

I have become far better in social situations as a grown up type person, but the socially anxious side of me lives on, despite some of my best efforts to eradicate it. And I feel like this is a season where my deep down hermit is reemerging with a vengeance.

Believe me when I say that I truly do enjoy the company of family and friends. I like spending time with people that I care about. But I have found that events with lots of people, even those that I love, tend to be extremely draining for me. And if there is an event with a lot of people I don’t know then I become so over stimulated and worked up, that all I can think about is how to get out of the situation as soon as possible.

I know that being an anti-social recluse is not an option. And to be honest too much time in my own company would probably make me certifiable.

But I know there has to be a balance (one I have not found yet). I mean, it’s got to be ok to be a bit of a homebody right, to like to be alone from time to time?

Of course the flip side is, if it’s fear that is driving my anti-social behavior than that’s something to be examined. I have spent too many years allowing fear to dictate my actions. When one does that it severely impairs their quality of life. I know this from first had experience.

I don’t know, I guess I am just looking for the happy medium. A point were I find the right balance between my social side, and my hermit side. If and when I find it, you will be the first to know dear readers. 

Closet!

For the longest time I have had a great deal of difficulty getting rid of things. The problem has been so sever that I have often wondered if I was a hoarder. But recently I discovered it’s not my need to keep things around me that has caused my possessions to pile in obscene amounts, no it’s my inability to sort and organize.

The fact that I would rather let things pile up than sort them truly came to a head when I moved into my current apartment. You see, in my room I have a decent sized closet, one that I was ecstatic about in the beginning, but soon became the preverbal thorn in my side.

I had no idea how to efficiently use the space, so I found myself just piling things in the closet in a haphazard manner. The closet that I was so excited about in the beginning became the bane of my existence. I found that trying to pick my outfit for the day became a weird act of masochism.  A continues stream of profanity could be heard coming from me as socks and belts fell on my head from the precarious perches they sat on.

However, the anxiety I had from living with the overstuffed closet was trumped by the anxiety I felt when I would think about actually sorting through and organizing the monstrosity.  So there I was trapped under brutal landslide of earthly objects and self-loathing associated with my inability to sort and discard them.

Enter my mother. She decided in an act that was purely altruistic to help me organize my closet. Of course I met this kindness in an adversarial way because well, I am a brat.  And sharing my mess with anyone does have the side effect of raising my blood pressure. Of course after getting through the initial discomfort we began to make lots of headway.  After a few hours of really concentrated effort my closet became something so beautiful that words cannot describe it.

I cried.

Yes as embarrassing as that is, I cried because I had an organized closet.  It is the first time I have ever had that. I mean there have been times were I have made things appear neat, only to realize upon closer inspection that there still was no rhyme or reason to object placement. But now everything has an actual home. And there is a reason for the home. Space is utilized with purpose. This may seem like such a silly thing to my hyper organized, type A friends out there, but for me this is extremely new and so liberating.

In fact having my closet so neat actually drove me to purge lots of things, and clean up the rest of my room. I have kept it this way for a week, and it’s been pretty easy since everything has a place and there is a place for everything!

It’s yet to be determined if I can keep this up long term, but right now I am hopeful that I can, and that is the best Christmas gift my mom could have given me.