Inside/Out is a project of the Creative Nonfiction course taught by Prof. Christopher Hallowell.

By Annalee Manaloto

Having quit most online social networks and given up on casual texting, I’m not the easiest person to keep in contact with. But I do love the opportunity to reunite with old friends, and recently I met with a friend from high school over some bubble tea. We fell right back into the seamless back-and-forth, the easy exchange of inside jokes and fond memories. Everything seemed fine, everything until the inevitable question: “So, what’s new?”

It’s not so much the question that bothers me, nor even the answer, but the assumption that I should have something new going on in my life. I find solace in the assurance that my stagnation isn’t for lack of trying.

I tried joining a school club. Should I tell her that? Clubs are supposed to be fun. This was how I would get myself out there. But whether I was out there or at home, it hardly made a difference if out of irrational terror I refused to make eye contact with people.

I attended a religious club called Intervarsity Christian Fellowship for a brief stint. I got through the songs and the message without a hitch, but once lunch was unpacked and people started to mingle, I bolted out of the door, muttering about a meeting with a professor to anyone who might have been listening.

Each time I have forced myself to socialize, I have found myself stuck in an awkward conversation with someone who seemed only too aware of my discomfort. My hands always threaten violent shaking, so I grip them tightly to still them. Untrimmed fingernails dig into my skin. The sharp pain helps dull the self-deprecating thoughts that flood my mind. It occurs to me how strange I might look with hands clasped so tightly, so I let go. Then little crescent moons scatter across my nails, frowning at me from different angles. I struggle to get my breathing under control. You can get through this, I tell myself. But the tiny angel—conscience—is overcome by the obstreperous devil on my shoulder who likes to remind me that my quips aren’t funny, and my anecdotes are boring. And oh, look, my clothes don’t match. The last meeting I attended, someone casually commented, “You’re really an introvert, huh?”

I laughed it off and excused myself, but the words resounded in my head with a cruel echo. The devilish conscience likes to continue the echo from time to time, just making sure I’m not being burdened with too much self-confidence. It’s nice that it looks out for me like that.

So, on second thought, maybe I should tell my friend about my new job. In a world of networking and stress on verbal communication, social anxiety isn’t a flaw that is easily overlooked, especially for a student preparing to compete in the job market. Employers aren’t really looking for prospective employees who struggle through casual conversation or feel the need to escape to the bathroom every couple of hours to recharge for another bout of forced niceties.

I was incredibly relieved when I was found employment at a dental office. Some people might consider the job menial, but working with computers is something I am familiar with and perfectly content doing. But with this job has come my worst nightmare: small talk.

Office workers like to pursue small talk. There’s an astonishing dearth of entertainment when sitting within in a walled area with limited Internet freedom for extended hours every day. People try to fill the time with something other than awkward silences. They ask questions like, “Do you have any plans this weekend?” or “what are you having for lunch?” The former question becomes redundant, since my plans of staying in and studying rarely change. I stopped eating lunch during work hours, rendering the latter question obsolete. My stomach ached terribly through the day, but it was no more uncomfortable than imagining how I am being watched and judged for my eating habits. Some have noticed my discomfort and have asked if I am all right, but I have brushed off their concern. I hated acting cold and rude toward my painfully friendly coworkers, so I constantly kept busy to excuse myself from everyday chit chat.

But I know what my friend is gunning for. When she asks, “What’s new?” what she really wants to know is, “Is there anyone new in your life?”

I cringe at the thought. I can hardly talk to people in general, what makes you think I can talk to people I could possibly be attracted to? Not to mention that I identify as a demisexual, which means I don’t personally find people attractive unless I experience an emotional connection with them first, and emotional connections are scarce among misanthropes.

A few seconds go by before I realize I haven’t responded to her question. It takes just a moment more to realize she probably already knows the answer. As my friend, she understands firsthand my issues with sociability and disinterest in relationships. It doesn’t matter to her, why should it matter to me? I still like who I am. I enjoy the company of my few, close friends. I’m happy with my life. So I relax, a genuine shrug rolling off my shoulder.

“Not much. School’s the same, work is normal, and before you ask, I’m not seeing anyone. You know how much I hate talking to people. So what’s new with you?”