Based on the title, some of you might be on a different wavelength than I. When I say social call outs, I mean “calling out” of social events, just like you would a job. I don’t mean calling out socially unexceptable behavior, which you should always do, but that’s for a different talk. So basically, as one would “call out” from their job, because of any number of reasons; I also “call out” from nearly all my social gatherings. Lately, even without a global pandemic, I’ve been seeing my friends less and less. Even though the virus is “winding down” and gatherings, with people I haven’t seen for an already lengthy time, become more plausible and less dangerous, I still don’t want to do it. Granted, I’m naturally a very reserved, introverted person. Though when I make a good friend, these traits start to melt away. With my friends, I’m able to be me, and they already know my dark secret that is my depression. But, there still is that metaphorical ball and chain around my ankle that is my desire to self isolate. I particularly face this problem with very outgoing, socialite friends. Which now that I think about it, pretty much all my friends are extroverts. Anyways, whenever they (singular or in a group) plan an outing of some sort, like attending a festival in town, I always get cold feet. I’ll agree to go with them because of my history of not going, but then when the time comes, I’ll find an excuse to “call out” and not go. Either that, or I’ll just not say anything and ignore their texts and calls. I know this makes me an awful friend, and I’m honestly surprised my friends are still my friends. To add icing to the shame cake, I feel awful continuously doing this to them, almost every time. Yeah, I should probably just say no outright, but I feel this is only the lesser of two evils. Either I constantly say no, or I say yes and make it maybe 5% of the time. It’s a moral limbo that I’m perpetually stuck in. I want to be a good friend, but I just enjoy staying in my room so much more. I know that this is just a symptom of my anxiety/depression, but that doesn’t make it sting any less. I’m just not a social person, I pretend to be, because most people are. I just, really don’t need any social interaction whatsoever. I know that you probably don’t believe me, but I could just stay inside forever. Which I know is not mentally or physically healthy at all, but it doesn’t change who I am. I know they say you can change yourself, become a better person, make up for your shortcomings…but it doesn’t really seem possible for me. Again, probably the depression talking. But as an animal, when we get comfortable somewhere or with something, we tend to stay in that comfort zone. Leaving that zone is an incredibly difficult thing to do, but isn’t impossible. I just don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I have it in me. Maybe I really just don’t want to change. Maybe I’m too comfortable being comfortable. I’ve sunk enough into the quicksand, that escape is impossible. Yet, there is that tiny bit of my brain telling me that nothing is impossible. That I can change for the better. I can leave this miserable, little hole in the wall that is my existance. There is a much larger world out there, and it is ripe for the taking (cliche I know). But that little voice is easily overwhelmed, as I crawl back into bed, to stay there the whole rest of the day. It’s a vicious cycle that takes more out of me then I’m willing to admit. And you might be thinking, “Well Alan, that sounds an awful lot like depression, like OG depression.” Okay maybe not the OG remark, but you’re right, it is a major part of depression to self isolate. To avoid mentally taxing social events. To cut yourself off from the outside world. I know, you know, my therapist knows, my mother knows, even my friends know. But I won’t ever admit it. I’m supposed to have beaten depression. I’m supposed to be in a kind of like remission period. If not, then what the hell did I let them fry my brain for?! It is a bit of a touchy subject within my though. That maybe I didn’t yank the entire depression tree’s entire roots out. Maybe there was a tiny piece left, that is slowly growing back. Maybe I’m just crazy. Or maybe I never beat it to begin with. All of this scares me. Too much to describe. I don’t want to fight anymore, I thought my fight was over, I thought I was the victor. I just want as peaceful a life as the powers that be will allow. I want to enjoy the things I used to. I want to go out with my friends like I used to. I want to have fun like I used to. So why is it so damn hard to do so? Why is this harder than when I was in the depths of depression? Maybe the pandemic is a bit to blame. It gave me an easy, perfectly understandable out. I could stay at home under the guise of safety. So when it finally came time to leave that bunker mentallity, I just sunk even deeper. It allowed my natural desires to flourish, to take hold of the brain I had spent so long improving. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to go out with my friends like old times, of course now without the copious amounts of alcohol. One of my biggest problems is fantasizing. I see how amazing things could, should, be. And when I take a look around, and see how far I am from this fantastical mirage I really am, it makes me feel unable to strive for it. Again, yet another vicious cycle that I can’t seem to escape.

If you’ve been able to get out of the loop I’m in, I would really appreciate to learn how you did it! Let me know in the comments please.