Hello, Old Friend

You know how it feels when someone is watching you? They’re just out of sight or maybe hiding in your peripherals, but you know they’re there. It feels like I’m being watched…but I feel this all around me. It feels like a million eyes staring at me from all angles. I can’t see them, but somehow I just know they can see me… and they know what I’m thinking, too. 

I shiver and this awful feeling courses through me. I look down to find that I’m covered in goosebumps while beads of sweat drip down my forehead. My hands feel impossibly cold, like I just dipped them in an ice bath. I wish I could see. It’s so dark in some places and in others, I can’t quite make out what’s happening. Everything looks blurry even through the glasses that threaten to slip right off my nose in this cold sweat. 

I hear murmurs coming from my left side—or was it my right? I can’t keep whipping my head around like this. Something isn’t right. I look up and am blinded by fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering above. I squeeze my eyes shut, ready to look down and find my biggest fears in the spotlight. All I see is a large splotch staining my view and following my gaze as I turn to take in the room.

I try to take a step forward and feel like I was punched in the gut. The spots dance throughout my vision now. I know somehow that if I keep going, I might not make it back. There’s something out there, watching me, waiting for me, wanting to pull me in and never let me go—like a hand suddenly grabbing your ankle in dark waters.

I can feel something getting closer—something that shouldn’t be here. What scares me most is how it’s making me feel like it always belonged. I feel drawn to approach it and let it in. Every step tightens the knots in my stomach yet feels like an embrace from an old friend. It feels comfortable somehow. It wraps itself around my neck and I gasp for breath. I can feel its grasp around my head and making its way inside. It wants to go forward. I open myself to it.

I can feel my thoughts turn into something not my own, something I can’t recognize. They spout vitriol at me and tear me down for every perceived fault that has ever been and will ever be. They tell me that I am nothing and will always be nothing, and if I walk through that door then everyone will see. They’ll see me ugly, naked, and cowering in fear and incompetence. The mask will drop forever. They’ll see what I see.

Painful memories swirl around me as the darkness deepens. The oppressive presence is inside me now. I remember the time my voice trembled and cracked when presenting my final project my senior year and the laughs that followed. I remember the times I thought about approaching the pretty girl in the room and kicked myself for even considering it. I remember the relationships I’ve lost to neglect and anger, my self-inflicted isolation as the final nail in the coffin.

A sound behind me cuts through the voices rushing through my head. It sounds muffled to me among the chaos. I can vaguely hear the words, “You’re on in five.” It feels like there’s a block of lead at the bottom of my stomach. I can feel my consciousness fading as the darkness extends its tendrils deeper into my mind.

My instinct is to just let go and let it take over me completely. It feels intentional and powerful. I feel aimless and meek. It seeks out the worst parts of me and makes them its own, clouding my memories and gradually convincing me that this was always meant to be. This is right. This is how it’s supposed to be.

Is this how I’m supposed to be? Are tension and apprehension just the natural vehicles through life? They feel safer than whatever is out there. I don’t know what’s out there. I don’t know what people will think of me there. I do know where I stand here. Here, I control my punishments and dole them out before others have the chance to. I don’t need to experience the whiplash and rollercoaster of emotions if I stay all the way down here the whole time. I can’t fall if I don’t allow myself to start climbing.

It needs me here. It needs me to host and feed it until it can take no more and explodes in flames of rage and havoc over my life. I’ve let it feed off me over the years until it’s the only comfort I recognize. Trying to break the cycle feels like a betrayal to myself.

The voice reappears at the other end of the room and calls out that it’s time. That feels impossible to me now. I cannot fathom moving from this spot and letting it go. It’s the only thing that makes me feel anchored down so I don’t float away. It loosens its grip for a moment, just long enough for something new to come in. This one isn’t a memory, but an aspiration. I used to have shelves filled with them. I wanted to keep climbing so I could see the view others get to see from the start. Now, all I see is the steep drop down if I stumble.

I see how the darkness has tried to hide the path in front of me. It has stopped me from exploring too many forks in the road and has led me right back to where I started over and over again. I’m tired of being stuck. I stand up straight and prepare to take a step forward. I brace for the pain. Walking away hurts so much more than walking toward it. It’s time.

It punishes me with a punch to the gut. My head starts spinning and my hands shake. It’s getting easier to see where the cloud is lifting. The sharp images in my head of a room filled with people silently despising and criticizing me are fading out of sight. It had programmed my fears to feel more real than memories. 

I keep walking forward and feel a warm light on my face again. I hear applause as I step through the curtain and onto the stage. The voice returns to introduce me as the next speaker. I pull the notecards out of my pocket and see that my nervous hands have crumpled and smeared my words. I take a deep breath and realize that the tightness in my chest is gone. The tension in my temples seems to have disappeared. There’s no one in my head screaming at me that all I do is screw things up. There’s nothing pushing me to run away.

My voice cracks as I try to squeeze out an introduction. My heart drops. I make eye contact with a man crossing his arms across his oversized sports jacket. He chuckles and nudges his colleague with his elbow. I always knew this was going to happen. At least that gave me a lifetime to prepare for it. I chuckled right back at him and cleared my throat. This will probably happen again, but I think I’ll be just fine next time.