Small Talk Is Largely Hell

08 Oct 2021 personal ·

Words Don’t Come Easy To Me

I’ve been a quiet person my entire life.

I have had moments, usually after alcohol was involved that my mouth wouldn’t stop moving.

But chatterbox moments would be short lived. They would give me a headache and feel a bit dizzy.

And that’s not just down to the alcohol consumption.

Quiet, shy, reserved, introverted, withdrawn. All words have ,at some point, been used to describe me.

There is something joyous about not talking.

Ingmar Bergman

I just don’t know what people find to talk about so much.

Some of my problem comes down to being deaf in one ear. In a noisy room I can hardly hear a conversation and that makes it much harder for me to be even willing to try and talk. I’m so aware of my slight disability, a bit too ashamed to mention it for fear of hearing the usual “WHAT” “PARDON” jokes. Oh hilarious.

That’s a new one. Haha.

Couple this with an absolutely lousy memory. I can forget what I’ve just said, or somebody has said to me in the blink of an eye.

So yeah, now I have an issue with talking and a chip on my shoulder regarding listening.

My wife can, and has, literally talked for two hours solid about her day. It made my head hurt.

I enjoy the silence.

Some people find it uncomfortable so have to fill the void with noise.

I have for the longest time worked in noisy environments. The silence is a break from the everyday cacophony of sound.

The problem with all this silence, is when it comes to having to talk. On a day to day basis, at work, I probably say a couple of dozen words. If it’s work related I’m fine. I know my job, I’m good at my job. I feel confident.

Anything else. No so much.

I get tongue tied. My mind goes blank.

I don’t talk about my personal life.

What I’m doing at the weekend.

What I’m having for dinner.

Holiday plans.

What I’m watching on TV.

Any good movies.

Nope, nope, nope.

I don’t understand why anybody would care to know such stuff. I don’t want to share anything.

It’s all so unimportant and trivial. So I give a mumbled one or two word answer.

“Nothing much”

“Haven’t decided”

“As little as possible”

I don’t like football, pop music, realty TV, soaps or whatever talent show is popular.

I’ve always felt like I’ve been on the edge.

I had a group of friends at 15 - 20 years of age. Liked the same music and films. But as the years went by they dropped off. Moved, had kids. Grew up.

I was the quiet one of the group. And I was fine with that. They were fine with that. We understood each other.

Now the circle of people I like and talk to is no bigger than a dot.

So, generally I stay quiet.

But when I have to speak.

When I have to answer the questions people are asking.

My mind goes into panic mode after the first half a dozen words out of my mouth.

The words going through my head, somehow, are not the same words that come out my mouth.

The carefully thought out explanation fails to make any sense of itself.

Then people look confused.

So I try to fix what I’ve just said.

But this makes things worse.

I double down on the consuming terror I’m beginning to feel and it just feels worse and worse until I snap.

And then I wish I’d never spoken in the first place.

The endless cycle continues. Feeding off the last horrendous attempt at conversation.

Not every time. I have moments of clarity. But these moments are few and far between.

I’m sure the few people who know me will say I’m being too hard on myself.

But this is how i feel.

This is how I feel.

And I hate it. But can’t stop it.

I’ve been this way too long.

I can remember the very moment when this tiny snowball started rolling down the hill gaining mass and momentum, never stopping.

It was a ridiculously tiny interaction.

Just a couple of words.

But that’s all it takes sometimes.

The group L7 I accidentally called LZ. And my mate called me a dickhead.

And that is all it took.

Something inside my brain went click. And the snowball began to roll and roll.

If I could go the rest of my life communicating with people via a keyboard I’d be happy.

I can think about my words carefully.

Press delete when it doesn’t make sense.

Don’t have to worry about how I’m coming across. How I sound. My voice. God, my horrible whiny voice.

I’m an introvert, and I know it. Not deeply. Just enough to cripple me from doing anything that involves interacting with people.

I find it easier talking to women. Always have. I used to have long talks with my mother when I was in my early teens. We’d put the world to rights. Talk about everything.

But even that now has been reduced to a few simple sentences. How’s work, how are the cats.

I find it even easier talking to animals. Maybe because as long as I’m kind to them they don’t judge you like people do.

The machismo bullshit you go through with men is so ridiculous.

Maybe it’s just because I’m surrounded by people I have nothing in common with.

Maybe it’s because I never really connected with my father.

Maybe I’d always have been like this.

As the depression took hold, the life experiences changed me. I look back at the younger me with sadness.

I was never the extrovert. Never the centre of attention. But I felt. Normal.

I’ll never be that person. I don’t even try to be. But I miss him. I’m jaded and tired of life and the people in it.

It is having a huge impact on my interactions with everybody in the real world.

The person writing this, the person you get messages from on social media, see posts from, is more the person I’d like to be.

I don’t think anybody knows the real me. I keep myself hidden. Because I don’t want anybody to know the real me. The online me, The detached me. The distant me is a much nicer person.

I’m not sure even I know the real me.

In a room full of people, I’d be the one talking to the dog.

https://hackspirit.com/how-to-talk-to-people/