june 10th, 2016
silly little parties. she had been invited. she thought and thought about it all week. all that day. all that night. all the next morning. because she didn't go.
at first, her reason was they didn't want her to. her best friend told her different. nonsense. nobody likes you. anxiety whispered in her ear, all day, telling her to stay home. you won't fit in there. nobody likes you. you'll be silent and silly and stupid there, trying to fit in somewhere you don't. she didn't go.
she saw the story reveal itself, the party become more crazy. silly. immature. and a piece of her wanted to be there. crazy. silly. with them. she wasn't. she didn't go.
the immaturity rose, and through the small videos, she caught glimpses of what was now high school parties. she wanted to be there. she wasn't. she didn't go.
social anxiety makes her nervous, quiet, violent, obsessed with her faults, and torn in the middle, wanting what she can't have -- a voice, a personality, a reason. a reason to go. she wanted one. but she couldn't find one. why not?
social anxiety. hatred. pain. mistakes. chances not taken. her. and, of course, silly parties.
