youhatemyusername
Member
One dollar, or 0.48 Pounds, if you prefer. An insignificant amount.
I was a picking up a pizza at the local pizza place. The total was $12.17. I handed the cashier $20.17. With a friendly smile, he handed me back a five dollar bill and two ones.
“Seven dollars your change, sir”
I knew right away he had made a mistake. I was almost certain that if I pointed it out to him, he'd apologize and hand me the additional dollar, and we'd both be are on separate ways, forgetting about the trivial incident before we reached our homes at the end of the day. But something wouldn't let me. It was that nagging doubt, that voice in the back of my head, that I have only recently learned to call Social Anxiety, Social Phobia or SP.
“Don't make a scene”
“It's only a dollar, let it go”
“Don't take a chance of making him angry. You'll get into an argument, and everyone in the restaurant will stare and wonder what is wrong with you”
All I could do was look at the cashier and hope he would realize the mistake on his own. He didn't.
My SP was right, it was only a dollar. But how much more than that has it cost me over the years?
How many times have I let a salesman talk me into buying something that I didn't need, all because my SP didn't want me to risk offending him?
How many times have I allowed a friendship to slip away because my SP convinced me that my friends didn't really like me, and that I would be bothering them to call them up to do something with them?
How many times have I not asked a girl out because my SP convinced me that asking and being rejected is so much worse than simply not asking and never knowing what might have been?
Funny, my SP has cost me so much more than the one dollar. But it's that one insignificant dollar that I'm determined make the turning point in my battle with SP. Tonight I wasn't shortchanged a dollar; I spent a dollar, no doubt the first of many, to defeat my SP.
And I have no doubt that it can be defeated. I've observed over the years, the more time I spend at my job, the more confident I grow, to the point I can now do things that five years earlier I wouldn't have dreamed that I could ever do: giving presentations in front of groups, being able to respectfully disagree with someone face-to-face, even supervising a very small number of people. I've witnessed how I've become more and more convinced that my friends do like me for who I am, and that I need to drink less and less alcohol to be “the real me” until I'm drinking none at all. There are times when it almost seems like it has gone away.
But even now, especially now, the SP comes roaring back. It wants me to stop writing.
“C'mon, writing about a voice inside your head?”
“People will think you're stupid, crazy or both”
“No one will read this”
“Everyone will laugh at you”
I'd be lying if I said the voice wasn't giving me second thoughts about allowing anyone to read this. I know I've had similar “epiphanies” in the past, only to fall back into my same habits within a day or two. The battle is not going to be easy. But that's where you, the reader, come in. I probably don't know you; there's more than a decent chance I never will. But I'm promising you that I'm going to beat this. You may not care; it doesn't matter. My SP is always so concerned that you'll view me as a failure.
Well then, I guess my SP is going to have to realize that the biggest way I can fail in your eyes is to allow it to beat me. For that reason , you may be my strongest weapon in the battle.
I was a picking up a pizza at the local pizza place. The total was $12.17. I handed the cashier $20.17. With a friendly smile, he handed me back a five dollar bill and two ones.
“Seven dollars your change, sir”
I knew right away he had made a mistake. I was almost certain that if I pointed it out to him, he'd apologize and hand me the additional dollar, and we'd both be are on separate ways, forgetting about the trivial incident before we reached our homes at the end of the day. But something wouldn't let me. It was that nagging doubt, that voice in the back of my head, that I have only recently learned to call Social Anxiety, Social Phobia or SP.
“Don't make a scene”
“It's only a dollar, let it go”
“Don't take a chance of making him angry. You'll get into an argument, and everyone in the restaurant will stare and wonder what is wrong with you”
All I could do was look at the cashier and hope he would realize the mistake on his own. He didn't.
My SP was right, it was only a dollar. But how much more than that has it cost me over the years?
How many times have I let a salesman talk me into buying something that I didn't need, all because my SP didn't want me to risk offending him?
How many times have I allowed a friendship to slip away because my SP convinced me that my friends didn't really like me, and that I would be bothering them to call them up to do something with them?
How many times have I not asked a girl out because my SP convinced me that asking and being rejected is so much worse than simply not asking and never knowing what might have been?
Funny, my SP has cost me so much more than the one dollar. But it's that one insignificant dollar that I'm determined make the turning point in my battle with SP. Tonight I wasn't shortchanged a dollar; I spent a dollar, no doubt the first of many, to defeat my SP.
And I have no doubt that it can be defeated. I've observed over the years, the more time I spend at my job, the more confident I grow, to the point I can now do things that five years earlier I wouldn't have dreamed that I could ever do: giving presentations in front of groups, being able to respectfully disagree with someone face-to-face, even supervising a very small number of people. I've witnessed how I've become more and more convinced that my friends do like me for who I am, and that I need to drink less and less alcohol to be “the real me” until I'm drinking none at all. There are times when it almost seems like it has gone away.
But even now, especially now, the SP comes roaring back. It wants me to stop writing.
“C'mon, writing about a voice inside your head?”
“People will think you're stupid, crazy or both”
“No one will read this”
“Everyone will laugh at you”
I'd be lying if I said the voice wasn't giving me second thoughts about allowing anyone to read this. I know I've had similar “epiphanies” in the past, only to fall back into my same habits within a day or two. The battle is not going to be easy. But that's where you, the reader, come in. I probably don't know you; there's more than a decent chance I never will. But I'm promising you that I'm going to beat this. You may not care; it doesn't matter. My SP is always so concerned that you'll view me as a failure.
Well then, I guess my SP is going to have to realize that the biggest way I can fail in your eyes is to allow it to beat me. For that reason , you may be my strongest weapon in the battle.
..i don't mind you asking..i live in Ontario..do you like calgary? i've heard it's beautiful there..you lucky duck :wink: