I Am a Closeted Introvert

I am a closeted introvert. I don’t care for people.

I have the loudest laugh in the room. I enchant the host and guests with witty humor, snarky banter and sincere flattery and admiration. I dazzle listeners with delightful stories and comfort the speaker with my open ears and  bright eyes. I make my way through the room, air-kissing every familiar beautiful face and shaking the hands of strangers. We exchange cards that we’ll never use and save numbers we will never call. Because we only tweet, “LIKE” or email each other. Distance. We social fuck with the lights off.  Nevertheless, I collect my new round of acquaintances and end my night with people I didn’t know before in a social situation I didn’t plan for, drinking drinks I swore I wouldn’t be drinking tonight. We split cabs, take that walk together and I end up on the subway with my friend’s best-friend’s cousin. You know, the girl I hardly had any direct interaction with the whole night. My social limit has already been surpassed. Since hour 3 of schmoozing, my anxiety levels increased dramatically. Now I’m on the train platform with nothing left to talk about with this stranger. I really want to sit towards the last train cart, as it is ideal for my exit once I reach my stop. But then again, I’ll be the weird anti-social bitch who leaves the impromptu new friend who seems to be itching for the front train cart. Now we’re on the train. That new song I’m obsessed with – no chance of jamming to it now. That last chapter of this novel I’ve been reading will have to wait too. Oh there’s a one-seater? Nope, I must wait until there is a seat for two so that I don’t leave Ms. Guest of a Guest standing all alone. There’s nothing more awkward than having a public train conversation with someone standing above you. The small talk is straining. Luckily, her stop is before mine. When I reach my destination, I hail a cab. I greet the driver with nothing but a hello and my address. Drained, I run to my bed where I indulge in solitude. Peaceful quiet alone time.  Each text message inquiring about my safe arrival increases my anxiety, so I turn my phone off. I unplug for days without speaking to anyone until I’m ready to face people again.
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It’s not them, it’s me. Whenever I force myself to be the social butterfly that I appear to be, I feel a little bit of my soul being taken away from me. I feel too open and exposed.  I would rather stand in a corner, unnoticed. Wallflower. But I can’t be a wallflower when my career is based on mass connection and social media. Before I ventured into writing, I worked in PR.  The PR world forced me out of my comfort zone into the tense and cold world of networking. Networking with people I liked, people I disliked and people I was hired to love. The thing is, I’m good at connecting with people. I do love meeting new interesting people. And I am genuine in my interest and conversation. However, there’s so much pressure to keep people smiling, happy and  comfortable. I’m quite sensitive to everything and everyone. I always worry, if they met an upbeat me on Friday night, they will expect me to be just as bubbly on Monday, Tuesday, and every other day of the year too.  It’s like forcing yourself to text “LOL” when you aren’t really “LOL-ing.” It’s a scary thing to explain yourself, share yourself and just be yourself for others. It feels like a performance. Oh look how charming she is; I can top that. Look how charming we are! Let’s talk about fashion and career. Don’t you just love this overpriced scarf I’m wearing? Giggle with me! Let’s share all of our thoughts, experiences and plans. What school did you go to? How many names can you drop, darling? You’ve been to Germany? Well I’ve been to France, China and Jupiter.  I just want to sip my drink, dance to myself and then go home.