how to party like an anxious girl

on the edge, mentally and socially

You wake up in the morning feeling excited. For a minute. Then your stomach sinks. You have to go to a party later. You cannot get out of it. Well, you could but you’d hate yourself if you did. You try to go back to sleep to pass the time. Arm over eyes. Dead weight to keep them shut. Block the sunlight. Breathe. You have eight hours. But you need time to eat. Time to shower the bed rot off yourself. Time to put makeup on. So really you have six hours. And you need to eat something now. Eat as much as you can before the nerves make it impossible. You shove some yogurt in your mouth. Good protein. That’ll help keep you full. Back to sleep. Or somewhere in between.

You can’t sleep anymore. You watch a show. There’s only one episode left. Back to your own devices when the credits roll. You scroll on your phone. Stalk pretty people on Instagram who have cooler-looking lives than you. It motivates you. Three hours until you have to get ready. You munch on an apple. Then a yogurt drink. For the protein. Then a protein bar. You’re not shaking but you’re not content either. You know you’re making it a bigger deal than it is. That knowledge does nothing. Worry still creeps in. Sinks into the crevices on your skin. You bathe in it.

It’s just a house party. A boy-girl house party. You don’t have much experience with boys, romantic or not. Girls are your safe space. But how can you be a part of the world and not interact with boys? You sound ridiculous. You’ll be fine. There will be no more than ten people. Oddly enough, that sort of makes you more nervous. Less chances to be anonymous if the party is intimate. You’ve never been to a club but you think you’d like the feeling of being a stranger among many. No one’s attention directed at you. You’d still probably be nervous at a club too, though. Better to play it safe with a small house party. Even though right now it doesn’t feel safe. But you did it last year and had fun. Why is it somehow harder to do it this year? Two hours. Just stay two hours. Two hours for some conversation and a photo for Instagram. And a drink. Just one drink. Just try one drink. They’ll want to do Shot O’clock. And part of you wants to, too. But you imagine them asking you and you having to make a decision. You hate vodka. You hate whiskey. You hate pretty much any alcohol that isn’t wine or the adult equivalent of fruit juice. So what goes in the shot glass? Fuck it, you could do a shot of vodka. Might calm you down. Or make you sick.

God, what if you get sick? What if you don’t eat enough and drink on an empty stomach? What if you eat too much? What if you get sick from the nerves? Why does no one seem to talk about the anxiety one gets about one’s anxiety? You fucking hate yourself for always thinking and talking about anxiety. You’ve made it a personality trait. But your therapist said to be honest about it. That takes its power away. When does it move past honesty and become a crutch? Why can’t you be normal? Why can’t you be fun? This party is going to be FUN. You will hate yourself if you cancel and spend another night alone in front of the TV. No matter how good that sounds right now. It’ll be fun. You’ll be fine.

What if it won’t be fine? What will you even do at a party? Eat? Drink? Talk? Play games? That sounds horrifying. You’re already the odd one out because the party is full of your best friend’s fiance’s friends. You don’t see most of these people regularly. You don’t know them. They don’t know you. If you sit in the corner like a quiet little mouse all night you’ll definitely be the odd one out. So participate. Have fun. These people could be your friends if you let them. But what if you can’t? What if you get so anxious that you shut down? What if you make things awkward or weird? You ruined your ex-best friend’s birthday with your anxiety. You can’t keep ruining things. Or you’ll have no friends. And you want these people to be your friends. You’ve hardly said two words to most of them but you’ve observed them. They seem nice. You’d love for them to be your friends. So you need to go to the party and let that happen. But what if––

Your stomach settles as the hot shower water runs over you. Life is great in the privacy of a shower stall. The steam opens your pores. You take deep breaths. You’d stay in here forever if you could. But you can’t. So you step out and wrap yourself in a towel. Check your phone. Two hours. You’ve got time to sit in your towel like a Sim waiting for a command. Shit, you need to eat dinner. Real food. Not protein bars and yogurt. You manage half of a tuna sandwich and a glass of water. Hope that’s enough protein to keep you steady just in case you’re too nervous at the party to eat anything. You want to finish the sandwich but you just can’t. Back to sitting in the towel. For a few minutes. Just to calm down.

Half of your costume is still on the hanger as you walk around the house getting ready. Makeup comes first. You apply it without a second thought, your routine baked into your brain like the powder on your skin. You calm down a little after your makeup is done, feeling more confident. You can’t stay home. You’re too hot and sexy to waste another night. You have to show up looking good. Like body armor. If you look hot then nothing else matters. You pull on the rest of your costume and get in the car. No turning back now. Two hours. You can stay two hours. And you have the next twenty minutes to occupy yourself with driving and music. Oh god. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes until you have to be normal and socialize.

You’re the first one there, which is a relief. It means you don’t have to walk into a room full of unfamiliar people and have all of them perceive you at once. You can sit on the couch and voluntarily wave as they come in. You talk to your best friend as she makes a platter of mini grilled cheese sandwiches. She’s anxious too. Says they both were anxious all day and considered canceling. You’re already glad they didn’t. The first guests arrive and you interject in the conversations when you can. You offer genuine compliments and say something funny when you feel confident enough to. But you’re still not comfortable entirely.

You’re offered drinks and food several times. You say no, self-conscious about it. You’re just not comfortable enough to eat or drink yet. You need to settle in first. And putting off food and beverage consumption for as long as possible gives you some kind of control that you’re not sure you really have, but it’s all you got. You hope they don’t think you’re weird or not fun for refusing so many times. You know your best friend understands this and you love her for it. But you wish you were different. You are kind of thirsty. It can wait though.

Until it can’t. It’s Shot O’clock. Time for everyone to go upstairs and pick their poison. You technically agreed to it because there’s a running joke between you, your best friend’s fiance, and their roommate about them always trying to get you to drink when you come over. You know it’s all in good fun, an earnest attempt to try and get you to open up more, let loose. You did say you wanted that, after all. So when they look at you and say “Shot O’clock?” you hesitantly say okay. It does give you an existential crisis about your people-pleasing tendencies, though. But when you stand in the circle and nod your head when they motion to ask if they should reserve a plastic shot glass for you, you remember that you’ve never taken a drink you didn’t want to. You take a shot of hard lemonade, do cheers with everyone, and throw it back. Only 5% alcohol but it’s better than the masochists who down the vodka and whiskey. You finally start to feel better.

You’re content to just sit and talk on the couch, observing everyone like you’ve done your whole life. Until your best friend’s roommate needs a beer pong buddy and they specifically ask you to be it. You don’t really have time to think about it too much when you’re suddenly up and learning the rules of the game, slightly embarrassed that you’ve never played before and your only reference of it is from movies. Just like with a lot of things in your life. They play beer pong a little differently. The cups are filled with water and you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. You and your teammate are losing horribly and there’s something so humiliating about throwing a plastic ball into a cup of water. But they’re being so nice and encouraging, saying you made good shots and giving advice that you don’t absorb at all because retaining the rules and tips of a new game in front of people is impossible. Then you actually make a couple of great shots in beer pong and everyone cheers (except the opponents, who are jokingly very competitive). Everyone is so nice and fun and genuinely funny and suddenly you don’t feel nervous. You’re not about to sing in front of everyone during Rock Band no matter how many times they ask you to but you feel a part of something instead of outside of it.

It’s not like it’s a rager or anything. You only have one more shot of spiked lemonade at the next Shot O’clock. You finally eat some food and curl up on the couch, where the party has migrated to. You got your photos so you take off part of your costume, including your shoes, silently signaling that you’re comfortable enough to walk around like it’s your house, unlike last year when you remained in full costume despite the sore feet. It’s been hours, way longer than the two hours you promised to yourself. You’ve hardly noticed. And you just now finally feel really settled in. You could almost stay overnight if you weren’t unavailable, that’s how comfortable you suddenly are. But you have to go and when you finally get home at almost 1:30 a.m. you feel both happy and sad. Because you had a lot of fun but you still feel like you could’ve done more. You’re not sure what more looks like. Is it playing Rock Band? Is it drinking more? Possibly something stronger than the adult juice beverage? Eating more? Speaking up more? Staying later? Maybe you should stop using movies as your only reference. You don’t have to be drunkenly jumping up and down to house beats that pound in your chest in order for it to count. Earlier they told you the spirit of Shot O’clock isn’t in the alcohol itself but the participation; there could be water in your shot glass but as long as you have one, then it’s Shot O’clock.

You had nothing to be nervous about. Even if something went wrong. Even if the sky fell, they would have helped you take cover. Because they’re good people. And you will try harder to say yes to things. And remember this feeling the next time you get nervous. But that’ll be a while from now. So you will forget. And your mind will do this exhausting song and dance once again.

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