Social AnxietyAt two in the morning, staring at the cold phone screen, in a blank input box. The cursor blinks, as if urging me. I type a line, then delete it; type and delete, delete and type. In my mind, I repeatedly rehearse the direction of the conversation, anticipating the other person's expression, mood, attitude, even possible coldness or disdain. Finally, I send a meme, pretending to be relaxed, pretending that nothing had happened.This has become my fixed routine, a fixed procedure. The words I really want to say are encrypted layer by layer, locked in my heart. It's not that I lack opinions, not that I lack viewpoints, and certainly not that I lack emotions. It's just that they are intercepted when they try to come out, as if there is an invisible censorship mechanism that makes the decision for me before I press 'send'.What I fear is being "read but not replied," but the more fundamental reason is the fear of not being understood. They are like a silent trial. My phone vibrates, and I grab it; when it doesn't vibrate, I repeatedly check, refresh the page, to confirm if I missed something. When sent messages don't get a timely response, when posted updates have no viewers, my mind automatically slides to the worst explanation: Did I say something wrong? Was the tone off? Was I too negative? Was I — disliked again?Rationally, I know that these lack factual basis; emotionally, I can't calm down. Social anxiety is like a permanent background process, occupying the internal space, consuming myself. Every interaction is magnified, dissected, and replayed in my mind. It's as if we are all taking an invisible exam, where any minor mistake will get points deducted and lead to a downturn.We crave social interaction so much. We crave understanding, responses, and confirmation of our 'existence.' So we proactively open the chat window, yet hesitate and deliberate before the send button. We fear awkward silences, small talk, and not knowing what to say. It's as if there is an invisible 'firewall' between everyone, a firewall with strict rules: can't be too enthusiastic, or you'll seem desperate; can't be too cold, or you'll appear rude; can't be too genuine, but also can't be too perfunctory.I don't know. I feel awful. I don't know when I became like this. I'm pained that my thoughts can't be expressed. I used to speak directly and be emotionally open. But now I'm used to constantly rehearsing and evaluating in my mind first. As if only after a thorough risk assessment are they worthy of release. But the more I calculate, the more warmth I lose. Those unpolished awkwardnesses, perhaps, are the true connection.Social anxiety is never the most intense; it's more like a persistent low-grade fever. It won't break you, but it exhausts you. We constantly check in the flood of information whether we have been seen, yet we are afraid of truly being seen. We want to get close, but then take a step back; we want to express, but then silence ourselves.Maybe one early morning, when I'm again deleting and revising in the input box, I can allow myself to send an imperfect sentence, allow the other person not to reply immediately. Allow silence to exist. Allow no one to see it. We may not be able to tear down that 'firewall' all at once, but at least we can open a small window in it.Even if it's just to take a breath.
Social Anxiety
Social Anxiety
At two in the morning, staring at the cold phone screen, in a blank input box. The cursor blinks, as if urging me. I type a line, then delete it; type and delete, delete and type. In my mind, I repeatedly rehearse the direction of the conversation, anticipating the other person's expression, mood, attitude, even possible coldness or disdain. Finally, I send a meme, pretending to be relaxed, pretending that nothing had happened.
This has become my fixed routine, a fixed procedure. The words I really want to say are encrypted layer by layer, locked in my heart. It's not that I lack opinions, not that I lack viewpoints, and certainly not that I lack emotions. It's just that they are intercepted when they try to come out, as if there is an invisible censorship mechanism that makes the decision for me before I press 'send'.
What I fear is being "read but not replied," but the more fundamental reason is the fear of not being understood. They are like a silent trial. My phone vibrates, and I grab it; when it doesn't vibrate, I repeatedly check, refresh the page, to confirm if I missed something. When sent messages don't get a timely response, when posted updates have no viewers, my mind automatically slides to the worst explanation: Did I say something wrong? Was the tone off? Was I too negative? Was I — disliked again?
Rationally, I know that these lack factual basis; emotionally, I can't calm down. Social anxiety is like a permanent background process, occupying the internal space, consuming myself. Every interaction is magnified, dissected, and replayed in my mind. It's as if we are all taking an invisible exam, where any minor mistake will get points deducted and lead to a downturn.
We crave social interaction so much. We crave understanding, responses, and confirmation of our 'existence.' So we proactively open the chat window, yet hesitate and deliberate before the send button. We fear awkward silences, small talk, and not knowing what to say. It's as if there is an invisible 'firewall' between everyone, a firewall with strict rules: can't be too enthusiastic, or you'll seem desperate; can't be too cold, or you'll appear rude; can't be too genuine, but also can't be too perfunctory.
I don't know. I feel awful. I don't know when I became like this. I'm pained that my thoughts can't be expressed. I used to speak directly and be emotionally open. But now I'm used to constantly rehearsing and evaluating in my mind first. As if only after a thorough risk assessment are they worthy of release. But the more I calculate, the more warmth I lose. Those unpolished awkwardnesses, perhaps, are the true connection.
Social anxiety is never the most intense; it's more like a persistent low-grade fever. It won't break you, but it exhausts you. We constantly check in the flood of information whether we have been seen, yet we are afraid of truly being seen. We want to get close, but then take a step back; we want to express, but then silence ourselves.
Maybe one early morning, when I'm again deleting and revising in the input box, I can allow myself to send an imperfect sentence, allow the other person not to reply immediately. Allow silence to exist. Allow no one to see it. We may not be able to tear down that 'firewall' all at once, but at least we can open a small window in it.
Even if it's just to take a breath.