Dissociating

I'm slowing starting to lose my sense of self again, which is terribly unlucky of me as I'm supposed to be meeting some people for the third time. The third time is very important. The first time you meet someone you can be inattentive and lofty. The second time, a simple wave or acknowledgment that you know each other is fine. But the third time you have to be witty and memorable. And unfortunately, I'm neither right now.

I'm headed to meet my friend Maya at a local concert. It's free and the music is good but it's so loud and not a place for meeting people for the third time. It's a tossup of what kind of mood I'll be in each day and today: I'm dissociating.

It's that time of year where I'm still clinging on to oversized sweaters and beanies while the rest of the world is excited to break out the shorts and cute flowy tank tops. I cannot perceive my own body enough to wear things like that so I stick to textures that make me feel comfortable: soft baggy pants, heavy knit sweaters, and dad sneakers. I'm going for mod but it's giving frumpy and disheveled.

I climb up the old wooden stairs in the local venue and hear the low boom of music which then swirls in the pit of my stomach mixing with my social anxiety. I'm here to meet Maya's new friends.

Maya had just secured herself a spot in the music scene. I knew she enjoyed music and played multiple instruments, but a few months ago she started dating a drummer named Nate in a local band we like and now she's establishing herself as a musician as well. She's moderately good, but her charisma is what's captivating. Shes one of the most intentional people I've met and now I have to share her with the local accoustic players.

I open the door and get blasted with guitar noises. I slink up against the wall eyes on the ground and slowly squish up a dollar pair of foam earplugs to spare myself from getting tinnitus.

Once my eardrums are secured, I look up and scan the room. Maya may be backstage getting ready for a set. I search for an empty seat when I notice a few of the other musicians from Nate's band and their respective partners.

They wave and smile.

Thank God. They recognize me.

One of my biggest fears is that people will instantly forget me after meeting and then I'll see them in the future and say hi and they'll have no idea who I am.

A settle in to one of the high stools next to the bass drummers girlfriend. She looks like a Disney princess, but one the would frolick in a field and never wear makeup.

"Hey Kelsey, hey Matt" I say extremely loudly and hope they can either hear me over the music or read lips well enough to recognize their names.

Then nod a universal "sup" and go back to casually sipping their drinks and tapping their feet to the thrum of music.

I try to think of things to talk about or ask between songs but my mind is drawn to one thing: I have a terrible secret I CANNOT let anyone know. I chronically don't know anything about music.

Maya has been a solid rock in my life for the past 3 years and sometimes I forget she went to school for music. Galavanting around the city with me on coffee and book excursions each weekend blurred some of the building blocks of my friend, and I feel slightly bad I can't connect with her on this level. But I truly am happy she has met people the do share the same passions as her.

Ask people questions about themselves.

I remember this key friend-making component from my time studying Dale Carnegie as a socializing noob - age 18. I try to think up questions that will get them talking about themselves so I can simply exist next to them: attentive to their social spotlight.

The song has ended. We clap and there's a rustle of exchanging musicians and background stage music. Kelsey and Matt begin chattering with the others I've unfortunately already forgotten their names and Ive missed my window to be witty and charming. It's also still far too loud for me to really hear anyone, so I sit back and smile and nod and laugh when I see everyone else laughing.

After a few more rounds of musicians I see Maya skip over and she wraps me in a tight hug. I wish she could just sit next to me the whole night so I don't feel so alone, but I'm learning to give her space to grow with her new friends. I love watching her mingle her way through the whole room knowing everyone's name and spreading a bit of cheer. She's always been such a light for me and it makes me subconsciously smile getting to see her share that light with others.

Matt and the other guys get up to prepare for their set and I'm left sitting next to Kelsey. I'm intimidated by her sheer effortless perfection and try my best to make smalltalk. Words fall out of my mouth like broken teeth and I'm trying to pull a conversation out of her but she leaves me with a soft smile, eyes glazed over, nodding politely.

In this moment I realize this girl has the personality of a sugar waver: sweet yet unfulfilling: leaving me wanting something more substantial.

The music starts again and I'm saved.

I turn away and start melting into my seat, giving in to my desire to dissociate. I drift away with the music and try to not compare my disheveled appearance to the deer eyes fairy my best friend is now best friends with.

I breathe in the soft melody and exhale grace: I don't have to be best friends with these people, I just need to make an effort for Maya.

I sink further into my chair and hyper fixate on the worn material of my sweater, on the maroon carpeted walls, on my lack of physical substance and and the eyes of everyone else in the room.