History of My Social Anxiety Experience

6/2/2016

"Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness." - Samuel

Beckett
Where did it come from? I remember being so courageous as a child. A little
shy, sure, but I remember not having a fear to speak my mind. I was even so ballsy
as to throw open a neighbors door, shout a provocative line of dialogue in front of a
moderate-sized audience and retreat in self-satisfaction and accomplishment
without any tinge of buyers remorse. What happened? Maybe it was just the
natural arrival of adolescence and the fault in my genes that fucked me, but maybe
it was the bullying.
Brent. That was the name of my first bully. A black kid with short-shaven
hair, I knew him from the first day of kindergarten. The specific event that sticks
out the most was while me and a group of other kids were waiting at the bus stop,
he took a handful of the blue popcorn from a school project of mine, ripped it off the
paper, and shoved it in my mouth. What a dick. Also food related, I think he may
have been the guy who also pushed my precariously placed pear off my spoon and
into my baked beans. Fucker. These werent lone incidents, but these were the
ones that stood out. However, he wasnt my worst bully he never got (too)
physical.
But Thomas, he was the worst. My dealings with him were nearly traumatic.
Im not even sure why he hated me so much. He would chase me down the street
sporadically when I got off of my bus, trying to get home. Im sure he punched me
and beat me up, but perhaps I have repressed those exact details, because just the
chasing remains in my mind. The worst experience was when he trapped me in a
fenced-in levee for a few hours and I would run every which way to get out, but
couldnt escape. I even tried to scoot underneath the fence, but I got caught on it
and couldnt make it all the way through. It was like being imprisoned.
Various people would taunt me for all kinds of reasons, two common ones
being my Southern accent and another being accused of being too feminine for a
boy. I had longer hair than usual and I would frequently be confused for being a girl.
I eventually moved from Fort Worth, Texas to Knoxville, Tennessee (or Maynardville
at first, to be more specific) and the bullying just continued. Even the nerdy
teachers pets seemed to dislike and insult me. No idea why. The confidence I had
in Texas was evaporating in my new surroundings. A guy named Brad, in middle
school, shoved me, head first into a locker. My friend, Ricky, from the trailer park,
would constantly belittle and nitpick me (I still know him, and hes still good at
pointing out every little flaw a person has). This redneck named Austin would
always fuck with me on the school bus. This shit went on and on.

The first time I went to seek out help for my social anxiety was when I went
to see a counselor in 10th grade about it (2002/2003). He was pretty unintimidating,
just a little, soft-spoken balding man that was very kind a fitting choice, the ideal
person to talk to about things of this nature. I remember my mother came in once
to attend a session, but I wasnt able to get on any meds at the time for whatever
reason. Looking back, Im not even sure what triggered me to seek help. My anxiety
seemed so mild by comparison to today or even what it would be two years later,
which may have been the height of my social anxiety.
Besides the bullying, perhaps it was the fact that I isolated myself, and my
parents let me isolate myself. My father, Wayne, would just sit me on a computer
and I would play computer games all day, alone. My mother let me do whatever I
wanted most of the time, but admittedly I did go out and play with my friends
besides just sitting around playing my Nintendo. Maybe this is where my
schizotypal comes into play, because I would sometimes be invited over to
someones lunch table, and while I would accept the invite that day, the very next
day I would go back to sitting alone. I would also get hit on by attractive girls and it
made me uncomfortable. I once was told I was cute by the most attractive girl in
the school, and I was afraid to follow up. I imagined it would be uncomfortable to
date a chick that went to the same school as me. I assumed the break-up would
create awkward moments in the halls. I also sometimes think I have a bit of a case
of prosopagnosia (I certainly have visual-spatial issues), because I have problems
identifying people, so I thought that would be embarrassing if I couldnt identify my
girlfriend. I never enjoyed normal people, so when I did hang around people, it
would usually be in the company of eccentrics. The weirder the better.
I noticed the confidence I had at night would dissipate in the morning. I
would plan to do something courageous and edgy at night and then I would be like,
Fuck that crazy shit, in the morning. Like the time I thought it would be a good
idea to paint my face up a bit with marker before school, so I did it at night, but then
I washed it off in the morning, because I got self-conscious. A teacher even noticed
a bit of the residue on my face and asked if I had a black eye. Which reminds me of
that time my Spanish teacher had me see the counselor, because she said I had no
friends maybe that incident is what led me to see him again about my anxiety.
My first actual panic attack occurred in my junior year of high school in 2004,
in Harleton, Texas (I moved a lot). It was, of course, a speech class. Speeches
really didnt terrify me at that point, I was even trying to have fun with some of
them. I wrote a monologue about stupid laws, and ironically, I was the only person
in the class to actually do his speech project. The assignment was to last ten
minutes. Ten whole fucking minutes of talking! I began confidently, but before the
passage of too much considerable time, something happened. I felt trapped. It
dawned on me that I was going to have to talk for ten whole fucking minutes, and I
would have to endure all of those eyes on me for a specified length of time. My
voice broke I had never experienced this before I started to black out I

remember my teacher shouting, Greg, are you okay!? Then the adrenaline
dumped and I felt even more confidence than before. It was almost like I was
compensating for having an anxiety attack. Very peculiar. The instructor informed
me that not only had I made it ten minutes, but that I went all the way over to
fifteen. After the class, some guy in the urinal next to me, from my class, asked me
if I didnt like giving speeches. The rest of the day I felt so uncomfortable and
scared.
Its pretty vague, but I believe I may have had a bit of a pre-panic attack
before this event. I was hanging out with my step-dad, Dave, at my step-brothers
house, and he was sitting with this guy named Jess. I was trying to tell him an
anecdote, but as I began talking, I started feeling this strange pressure that threw
off my train of thought and increased my heart rate dramatically. I had to speed
through what I was saying and it lost some of the point I was trying to make,
because I couldnt focus on giving it the right tone or inflection.
I assumed that panic attack was just a freak occurrence, so I tried for another
speech again in my senior year. I went up, confidently, while the guy in the seat
next to me joked about me being a crazy person. Just as I was announcing my
name to the class, and seeing all those god damned eyes on me, I began feeling
that feeling again. My voice broke, I couldnt get any words out the guy who had
referred to me as crazy put his head down in his arms and began laughing. Was this
out of schadenfreude or fremdschmen? It was brutal, but less intense than the
previous panic attack. The instructor had me go up one more time to give a speech
with some chick, and I dont remember the exact details of that, but I do recall that I
struggled to even push words out of my mouth by that point. Ever since, I have
refused to even try to give a speech in public again. Ive read that perhaps my
amygdala has formed a blueprint from these experiences that now tells my brain
that I am in danger every time I give a speech. Awesome. And this had nothing to
do with forgetting what I was supposed to say, because I was reading off of a paper
in front of my face.
My social phobias began to stack up after these incidents. I became afraid of
a ringing telephone, a knock at the door, and even grocery stores frightened me for
whatever reason. These days I find smaller shops more anxiety-provoking than the
bigger retail outlets. The reason being that in big stores, everyone is usually doing
their own thing, but the smaller stores are like little panopticons where everyone is
forced closer together, and the clerk knows everything you are doing, and I feel
pressured into buying at least some item. Ordering food at fast food joints would
make me nervous as well. I still sometimes get a rare dose of anxiety when the
waiter comes to take my order at a sit-down place. Some of the food choices
require a lot of talking, so when I get that feeling, I will plan out ordering an item
that doesnt involve a lot of talking something simple.

Perhaps I developed a dual personality online because of this. My ideal self is

someone that is more assertive and less afraid of confrontation. I troll people
online, trying to be as articulate and sophisticated as possible (possibly
compensation from being mocked for my accent and the fact that I mumble almost
everything I say). Im not a cyber-bully, its not the same thing I just mess with
people that I feel are douchers and that are deserving of it. I dont go after the
weak. However, even online I do get response anxiety, or what Ive heard referred
to as inbox anxiety.
In 2005, I began going to college. There was this English class I had to
attend, and the hippie chick professor made me read out loud a paper I had written.
Coincidentally, the paper I wrote was about my anxiety. She made a remark like,
Oh boy! about it when I read the title. I made it through that without a full-blown
panic attack, but she would pick on me ever since though, I got the impression
she was doing it to try to aim me to overcome my issues rather than to purposefully
be mean. She even made a comment about how I was this bigger than average guy
with a gruff appearance (I used to grow my beard out in those days) and even I
experienced self-consciousness. I dont recall the exact wording. She also ran an
activity that involved looking at the person next to you and making an assumption
about them. Luckily, she didnt complete the activity, because I wasnt comfortable
with it, and I wasnt called upon.
I began skipping this class after that. I was just going through the motions in
life at this point anyway, I didnt know what the fuck I was doing with my life, so I
began skipping some of my other classes anyway, and hanging out with my friend
from high school, Mitch, who was also going to the same college as me. Id ditch
class, something I never did in high school, and just ride back to his house on a city
bus. My uncle, Ron, would sometimes pick me up from school and call me a
disappointment for not having a job. It was ironic, because I used to do so well in
school as a kid straight As, was even student of the month, placed 2 nd place in a
math competition. The fuck was happening to me?
I dropped out of all my classes, because I was failing anyway. Because of
this, my father, Wayne, told me I had to get a job if I wasnt going to school. I told
him I would after my 19th birthday which took place on January 15 of 2006. We went
to Cicis and for whatever reason my aunt and uncle were there. I told them I was
taking a break from college, but I would be getting a job soon. I dont remember if
they had any response. The next day, I aimed to walk into Jack-In-The-Box to get a
job application. I hesitated and walked right past the door. I was trying to build-up
the confidence to walk inside and ask for one. I eventually turned around and went
in. I dont remember if I actually got an application or not, but I told Wayne about
my struggle, and he said he was impressed with me just for entering the
establishment.

Later that year, I moved back to Tennessee to live with my step-dad, Dave.
Surprisingly, I found the confidence to actually get a job at KFC. It didnt last long
(the details of why I have already documented in another story), but it was a start.
Then my second job was one at Target, which lasted at least a few months (Ive
always had problems holding down a job, and Im pretty sure it is anxiety related).
While in Tennessee, Dave was robbed. I decided to try my best to be assertive, so I
stood up and gave the new chick that was potentially friends with the person we
thought may have robbed us a talking to about what had happened. It was nice to
not back down from confrontation, but I also realized I couldnt prevent my voice
from being shaky when I stood up for myself or others, so that made me a bit
despondent.
By 2008, I had only had sex once. I was still afraid to get laid. Seriously. I
would intentionally avoid being around women that I thought may have the slightest
inclination to fuck me. A guy once asked if he should invite some chicks over and I
said, I dont know man, and gave some excuses about why it was a bad idea. Two
chicks even picked up myself and my friend Brandale and wanted us to come back
to their place. The drunk girl in the passenger seat even made out with me, but I
told them we had to get home. Why was I so scared? I just thought it would be
embarrassing when they found out I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. The
idea of fucking up in bed was terrifying to me. I avoided being put in that position
like the plague. And being put in the position that forced me to turn away a woman
in front of a group of people (not like this is a common scenario, but I have paranoid
thoughts) would also feel like an insult to my masculinity. So, every time a young
lady was around, I would try to go isolate myself. Like this time Rick brought over
two chicks, and he kept begging me to hang out, even said the girls were asking
about me, and him telling me, I guarantee you will get laid if you just come out of
your room. Guess what I did? I stayed in my fucking room with the door closed
until they left. For those of you who know me now, you will be able to appreciate
the Alfred Adler-esque compensation I am currently going through in my life.
In late 2008, I lost a job due to my anxiety. I was training to do
telemarketing, but when it was my time to roleplay, I had a panic attack before I
even finished my first line. It was my first panic attack since high school. I
pretended like I had merely suffered a sharp throat pain that caused me to stop,
and I asked to get a drink of water. Unfortunately, some guy in the class let me
drink from his water bottle, or I might have just ditched the building entirely and ran
off. When I try to visualize what I go through when I have a panic attack, I picture
darkness. Everything seems darker in my memory of it, like the lights got turned
down. This sensation of heat rising up to my head. The anticipation is one of the
worst bits. Knowing you are in line to speak, eventually. Its the worst feeling in the
world. After the panic attack occurred, and I had turned down speaking in public on
another day, I was told I may be unable to perform the duties necessary for the job,
so I resigned.

Social anxiety, pernicious bastard that it was, had cost me my job and my
education, so by this point I was finally motivated to seek professional help. In
2009, I set up an appointment with Cherokee Health. I believed in a miracle pill that
could fix me. I believe the first thing they put me on was an antidepressant called
citalopram. I also received therapy which, if not helpful, was nice that I had
someone to talk to about my problems with. Initially, the pill seemed to work, I felt
more confident for a while, but perhaps it was just power of suggestion, because it
didnt last. Also, antidepressants make it difficult to achieve orgasm, and I finally
had a girlfriend by this point (not like that mattered, since even having a difficult
time with my hand would have been reason enough). So, this began a trend of
cycling through different meds. Amitriptyline may have been the second one they
tried on me, and it kept going from there.
Speaking of my girlfriend, I was sitting in the backseat of her car once, trying
to tell a joke to her and her friend, but even thought started to make me feel
panicky, so I made some excuse about me getting a random headache and never
finished the joke. I realized I wouldnt be able to tell stories to people anymore
either, because talking for extended periods of time would risk me having an
anxiety attack. It was awful.
I signed up for an online forum for people with social anxiety, which was
somewhat helpful, I suppose. However, I do find a lot of people with social anxiety
to be very judgmental. I have a theory that the people that judge the most tend to
be those that are most afraid of judgment, and I have encountered a lot of these
people through online social anxiety channels. I did hear about propranolol from
them, which they highly recommended. I had already been on something similar
called atenolol by this point, though, so I wasnt fully sold. I would also later hear
about a supplement called phenibut from a guy from that forum, which I at first
thought was effective, but subsequent doses havent seemed quite so.
I moved back to Texas again in 2010 - natural nomad that I am and
continued going through various therapy places and meds. I went to DARS, MHMR,
and the Glick House. I did eventually get on propranolol and its probably been the
only med I find is slightly helpful without having side effects. Hydroxyzine has been
even better, but the problem is that it immediately makes me sleepy and then Im
groggy all the next day. When I did therapy, I would feel guilty if the therapist felt
they werent making progress with me, so I would indulge them in congratulating
themselves for pushing me out of my comfort zones. Ive been to countless
therapists and nearly all of them have tried to pat themselves on the back for
getting me things to do that they claim I wouldnt have done on the first day I met
with them. The truth is that Im very inconsistent. I make progress, I lose progress,
I stagnate, its a roller coaster. I do enjoy talking with my therapist, but the
pressure to get better under their watch sometimes causes additional stress.

I attended an anxiety support group in person once or twice. The person

hosting it said she used to host more specific anxiety groups such as one
specifically for performance anxiety, etc. However, she said when it came time for
the social anxiety group, no one would ever show up. Quite true. Ironically, I felt I
was one of the people that talked the most during the group. Why? Well, I think I
know. When people are aware of my issue, or are even in sympathy with it, it
makes it much easier to open up. They wont be surprised by my panic attack, so
its less likely to happen. This is part of the reason why on a few job interviews Ive
straight up told the interviewer that I had social anxiety, even against the wishes of
a therapist who provided me succor on job searching, but hey I think it actually
helped me get a job on one occasion!
One of my favorite quotes is actually by Mike Tyson: Everyone has a plan
until they get punched in the face. I told my favorite therapist that. We would talk
politics and philosophy and whatnot, it was pretty cool. I told him the quote after he
had asked what techniques I use to prepare for an anxiety-inducing situation. The
point being, nothing will prepare me I will always have a panic attack when the
right triggers are hit. I cant get ready for that. The diaphragm breathing
techniques cant compete with that shit.
I read a book by John Elder Robison called Be Different. It persuaded me that
I could have Aspergers Syndrome. I wrote down fifteen similarities I shared with
the author (unfortunately, I have lost this list). However, when I was psychologically
diagnosed in April of 2012, I was told I just had schizotypal, which is similar. One
interesting thing Ive noticed is that I have problems relating to the authors of social
anxiety books. When they tell their experiences, it doesnt quite match with my
concerns a good deal of the time. Its intriguing that I relate more to someone with
Aspergers than someone with anxiety a good deal of the time. Im more afraid,
more paranoid, that people are dangerous and may hurt me than they will judge
me. Not that I am completely comfortable with judgment, but part of my
personality is being a natural contrarian.
Here are some more issues I have. I struggle with communication. If Im not
being taciturn, Im mumbling or rambling incoherently, losing my train of thought as
I rant about something. I notice that I dont like to be able to hear myself speak.
The quieter the room is, the worse it gets. I need background noise. I hate when
someone wants to meet with me in private, so they close their office door behind
them, and it gets really quiet. That causes my anxiety to shoot up a notch. I feel
uncoordinated (or as my CBT therapists would prefer me to say, I think I am
uncoordinated since feelings cant be challenged). I cant flow. When I speak, it
feels like a real effort. Its like an amateur trying to learn a new skill, where
everyone else has the ability mastered and its second nature. When Im forced to
talk to someone, every word that comes out is a strain, and Im usually hoping they
stop talking, or better yet leave me alone and walk off. Ill sometimes say

something, and immediately think it was a foolish thing to say, and I feel a jolt shoot
through my body.
And its not even just talking. It seems like other people have this way of
knowing what they are supposed to do in a certain situation, like they are reading
body language a certain way and adapting accordingly. Ill be in a situation and not
know how Im supposed to react. For instance, sometimes a person will walk into
another room and Im not sure if I should follow them or not. My movements are
self-conscious, Im afraid of what action to take in front of someone, because Im
concerned I will take the wrong one. Unless things are spelled out to me, I wont
know what action to take. Not that Im afraid of doing my own thing without being
told, but usually my own actions dont seem to mesh well with what other people
are doing, and I will feel like Im an alien pretending to be human. Like society was
doing just fine without my input, the clockwork was in synchronicity, and then I
arrive and drop a wrench into the gears.
Ive heard that just assuming a confident posture is supposed to make you
feel more confident. I recall me trying these techniques before I had to give a
speech in college in 2013, but this is my take on the situation: it kinda makes it
worse. There is a bigger fall. If I come into a speech looking confident, and I panic,
its more jarring more memorably bad. Did I mention I have performance anxiety?
However, if I walk in shy from the start, having an anxiety attack wasnt that far
from what was expected. Its not quite so shocking, not quite so attention grabbing,
not such a dashing of expectations.
Listening to anxiety provoking music actually seems more beneficial than
listening to calm music. Maybe I just need something that matches my mood. Im
also afraid I will learn to associate good stuff with anxiety, as opposed to vice versa.
So, for instance, say every time I watch my favorite movie when Im having
anxiety wont this cause me to have anxiety just by watching this movie? Itll ruin
it forever. And as Ive already said, the louder the better silence when Im in a
talking situation is the worst. Silence, if it includes people not talking at all though,
is best.
Ive been accused of being a shill for OKCupid on anxiety forums. I also use
Tinder these days, but havent had much luck at all on Plenty of Fish. I will happily
vouch for online dating though, because it has really improved my life. As Aziz
Ansari says, Its like walking into a bar with super powers. Before I used online
dating, I had only slept with two women, and they had to approach me first. Now?
Well, Ive lost count, but its over 50. The first time I called a girl from OKCupid, I
had to be super drunk or on hydroxyzine (or a combination of both, which is no
doubt an incredibly dangerous thing to do). I was too afraid to do it otherwise. It
took a lot of work encouraging myself I could do it. Now, I could pick up a phone
sober, and talk to any woman. If only I could make the same improvement in other
areas of my anxiety, but the nice thing about being on the phone is that the person

cannot see you and if you get too stressed out you can always hit the hang up
button. Its much harder to get away in person, so harder to take those baby steps.
Besides interfering in work and in college, my anxiety has also interfered with
activities I would normally associate with a good time. A perfect example would be
my Brazilian Jiu Jitsu class, which I did for a year, starting in April of 2011. I had to
take a hydroxyzine before even walking in the door. Some days we had to form a
circle and take turns counting our exercises those were the worst. The coach
would also sometimes ask a person in class to get the exercises started for the rest
of the class. I assumed he wouldnt call on me anytime soon, since I was a white
belt, but I was always worried one day it would be the case. I eventually started
attending the morning classes with my co-instructor instead of the busier evening
classes, and I was able to come in comfortably without having to take hydroxyzine.
It was a much less structured class, more relaxed, less people.
I worked at a Tyson Chicken plant in late 2012, and they would gather in a
room before work began and also form a circle and count (in Spanish) during their
stretches. I brought a note I written explaining my anxiety and asking to be
excused from the exercise. I think the guy thought I just couldnt count in Spanish,
but he let me be skipped. Coincidentally, one day I was feeling especially confident,
and on that day he asked me to try to count, so I did (in Spanish) and everyone
congratulated me. This was fine this day, but having to do it every day since
caused me apprehension every time I came in to work.
I returned to college in 2013 with a plan (and hoping to not be punched in the
face). I would go to the disability office to ask for help. I got accommodation letters
for my classes, but they told me the letters would only do so much, and that I would
need to discuss the specifics with my individual professors. By doing this, I was able
to avoid having to introduce myself in class and elude having to speak in front of
the class. Maybe this is considered not confronting my fears, but I felt it was a
prudent way to move on with my life without being held back forever. I was no
longer skipping classes, because I was no longer having anxiety about attending.
Though, I did have to attend a speech class in college, I was allowed to perform the
speech in front of just a tiny group of people in the disability office instead of the
main class, as an accommodation. I managed to do this without having a panic
attack! Thats right, I made it through a full speech without an anxiety attack. Not
sure how I pulled it off.
Ive had a few girlfriends complain about me being so laconic, though. Im
never going to be that social. Im a natural introspective introvert. Im always overanalyzing things, and spacing out in my head instead of listening to what someone
is saying. One girlfriend would tell me after every hangout we had with her friends,
You didnt say a single word to anyone the whole time! When we went to visit her
family, I went into the guest bedroom we were provided, and closed the door and

rarely came out. If I have too much social stimulation, it can have very bad effects
on me. Im not trying to be rude, Im trying to survive.
I know Im limited. Ive been told I could be a decent teacher, because I love
to introduce people to new concepts, but I couldnt mentally or physically handle
doing that for a living. One of my dream jobs, if I had the power to pull it off, would
be to be a public intellectual or debater. But even Christopher Hitchens said to be a
good writer one must be a good speaker first. Externally, life seems like it would be
so much easier without social anxiety. It seems to me - possibly naively - that with
the possession of a little charisma, one could live comfortably. I just need to find
the meaning in my life. As Nietzsche said, He who has a why to live can bear
almost any how. I can suffer as long as I know what Im suffering for.
-Greg dratsab Huffman