Outside the Party

“Let’s go to a party,” you say.

Please don’t leave me alone in it, I think.

You are inside the party. You are laughing, your face is creasing, you are receiving. 

I am outside the party. I am catastrophizing, my throat is closing, my arms are crossed. 

Everyone’s gaze pierces through me and illuminates my impostorism. I am not equipped to handle the inside of the party-the looks, the casual mingling, the kitchen that has no clear exit, my dry mouth and blurry vision and constant what ifs. 

Newness is a threat to my body. I embrace it in my brain, but my flesh tells a different story. It floods with adrenaline when it detects a new face, a new setting, a new task.

Newness breeds exhaustion. I am constantly aching, my muscles full of stifled connections. Every move I make through the eyes of another is painstakingly calculated. Every fictional, non sensical judgement a person could pass on me has already been passed on by me. It is nothing short of back breaking work my brain is compelled to do. 

“Let’s go to a party,” you say.

I wish it was that easy. 

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