So I’m trying to force myself to leave the house. It’s become like my little cocoon. I know that I need to go out and do a few things: send some checks to some people, work out in the gym, get my oil changed; yet, I find myself fighting this. Why? I’m not agoraphobic. I like to be out in the midst of people. Heck, I may make a friend. That’s what I keept telling myself, yet that’s what I keep refusing to believe.
I feel like I’m the animal in a zoo. I know no one, and since I don’t know these people, I assume that they know everyone but me, so I become the one to observe. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve passed women at the bus stop who don’t acknowledge my presence. I always get myself into trouble when I do this sort of thing… imagine that I know what other people are thinking… or even worse, imagine that I know what other people are thinking about what I’m thinking. The cycle of thinking: a dangerous supposition.
I’m outgoing, or at least I used to be. I hope that what mad eme outgoing wasn’t the fact that I knew everyone. I understand that knowing everyone in a small town can contribute to being outgoing, but I’d like to think that wasn’t entirely the case. For instance, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked up to groups of people that I didn’t know…and introduced myself. That was the circumstance under which I met my husband.
…I’m going to feel like the world’s biggest loser if I don’t get off my ass and go.
