The Faces of Anxiety

My heart is pounding. My vision narrows to a single point. All sounds are louder than before, and yet, I understand none of it. I am terrified. Worse yet, I look it. As anxiety grips my heart, I wonder if anyone can tell how quickly my heart beats or that I am afraid to interact with others. I wonder If they understand that I am not arrogant or self-important, but rather that I am afraid. I ruminate over every interaction, rehearsing all, from my greetings to my repartees. But alas, none of it ever happens. 

Imagine a tall young man with fluffy curly hair, warm honey-colored eyes and a smattering of stubble along his tapered jaw. This young man is dressed as unassumingly neutral as possible, such that he will not draw attention while at his friend’s party. He walks with his shoulders squared back and a slow gait to appear more open and friendly. He hides his eyes behind a pair of square black glasses so that he can avoid direct eye contact while looking trendy. At least, that is how I see myself in my mind’s eye. I believe this, therefore it is true. 

I wonder if anyone can tell that I am afraid? Few occasions agitate my anxiety like a party where I only know one person, and that one connection has not even arrived yet.

All of a sudden, a laugh breaks through my single-minded focus. All these bright colors flood into my awareness, and with it, a woman that is my diametric opposite. She stands in the center of the room in a bright yellow dress. Her hair is puffed into a beautifully fluffed afro that moves with the same energy she emits. She is tiny in stature and yet seems to command the attention of everyone around her with her brilliant white smile. How confident and happy she looks!  Where she is boisterous, I am quiet. While she has this infectious laugh that illuminates the room, I tremble at interacting with strangers. I feel as though she embodies all the traits that I try to adopt, the traits that feel foreign to me. Oh, what I would give to understand how she became so confident and free. Just how I wish to be!

While I was lost in thought, she looked up from her conversation and her bright brown eyes met mine. Time stopped for me. All of a sudden, I am present in someone else’s subconscious.

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This room is so loud. The polyester fabric of my printed yellow sundress itches against my sensitive skin. The beer in my lukewarm cup tastes acrid as time passes. There are too many noises and I cannot make sense of any of them. So, I laugh. I smile widely and say next to nothing, all the while hoping that whoever is talking to me will lose interest and go away. They brag about their accomplishments, their professional job and their connections and I do not care in the slightest about that. It is all an external veneer. If my enthusiastic conversationalist showed a true love for any of the subjects he waxes on about, this would be a different conversation. 

Currently, he has moved on to giving me complements about my looks, which serves to make me feel uncomfortable. Although I am conventionally beautiful, I was teased as a child for my dark skin, weight and unruly hair. Even my own family would say, “if only you exercised more like your sister” and then trail off into silence. Sometimes, they would ask who would love me with my kinky curly hair, as if my appearance was all that mattered. I worked so hard in my studies in order to have something I could feel good about. I excelled academically so that my parents would praise me, for once, instead of criticizing me. 

If this loquacious man complemented my cancer research work or patient advocacy, I would feel more invested in this conversation. However, this man would need to ask questions about me in order to learn any of that. I have a distinct feeling that he has already created his own fantasy image of who he believes me to be during the time he spent delivering a monologue of his societally acceptable accomplishments.

“You can always leave to find a quiet spot.” A calm male voice suddenly says. I startle. Am I going crazy? Is this a hallucination? I look around to find the source of this mysterious voice.

Halfway across the room, I see a tall man, handsome and self-assured, comfortably lounging in a corner of the room. He holds a glass of water in his hand, even as others drink alcohol. People mill around him, and yet he does not seem to feel any pressure to interact with them. This man smiles at his own thoughts and seems secure in his own company.  A grating guffaw pulls me out of my thoughts and I look over in surprise. For a moment, I forgot I had company.

“Excuse me, it was nice to meet you.” I tell my momentary companion as I walk towards the tall quiet man. My heart beats thunderously with anticipation. My palms begin to sweat and my prepared conversation starters flee my mind. 

Thankfully, this man seems to read the anxiety in my face and starts the conversation for us. 

“Hi, I’m Jeremy. I’m a researcher at the local university. What’s your name?”

“Maria. What a coincidence! So am I.” 

With at least one similarity established, I begin to feel more comfortable. As we discuss our respective labs and move onto the topic of our research experiments, conversation flows. It seems like Jeremy knows all the right questions to ask me so that I open up.  I bring my eyes up to meet his and abruptly sense a change in the feel of the conversation. All at once, he is a bit shy and less glib than before, but I find myself still curious to learn about him.

What a refreshing change, to meet someone who doesn’t need to show off to feel secure.