I don’t know how anyone can be so effortlessly social.
Loneliness can express as a physical ache or pain, but, as with any long-term condition, the individual may learn to just carry it around. And, because it’s invisible, it’s easy not to draw attention to it. No one wants to hear how lonely you are, so you learn to mask it.
I’m not sure when this became an issue for me, or if it always had been, but I began to notice it about twenty years ago. The simple notion of asking someone if they would like to hang out brings with it a flood of doubt in my self-worth, a conviction that ‘no’ is predetermined because how could it be another way? I think the inevitability of a negative answer is so conditioned into me that I actually start to feel that solitude-pain even before asking.
The instances when I am able to push these thoughts out of the way and make the effort (a herculean task), my expectations are shown to be correct far more often than not. Sometimes I even discover my social circle—the people I care about and would consider friends—actually had a get-together, and no attempt was made to include me. This just makes my next attempt to reach out to anyone more difficult.
Sidenote
One of the more… insulting? examples of this is of a longtime friend who, among other things, very suddenly ramped up his involvement with outreach programs focused on mental health, suicide prevention, and the like. Where we used to get together multiple times every month, I have only seen him about four or five times in the last two years because he is so busy otherwise. There is a deep irony in hearing the message ‘You are not alone’ from someone who essentially abandoned your friendship in order to proclaim that very message. That hurts.
In any case, I imagine this sort of overthinking is a symptom of my OCD and makes me insufferable, thereby validating others’ preference not to enjoy my company.
Or maybe that’s just what my overthinking wants me to think?
I’d really like it to switch off.