shyness is nice (and shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to)

I am not hiding 

I am not hiding 

It's the only combatant I have against the malfunction of my inner mechanics, what leaves me to slowly ruin my prospects while being self aware enough to witness to it. 

"The first time I met you, I remember it vividly for some reason." I did too. 

The meeting left me with a leaden heart as I thought of what could have been were I not Someone too nervously afflicted to speak to normally . The opportunity to form meaningful relationships, to be mentored, stunted by my distance and awkwardness. There was no reason to be uncomfortable, really. He was kind, approachable. More perceptive than most, which might be why I shrunk under his gaze, the chair feeling too large, my inner panic no doubt distorting my facial expressions. My nervous babbling, unintelligent and abstract. What must he think of me?  I lacked the presence of mind to articulate myself, nervousness impeded my verbal expression. Had I ruined his schema of me, someone that once seemed bright and promising now proven directionless and ambling of mind. He was sharp, not with the coldness of calculatedness but I could see interpretative nature of his gaze, though I couldn't guess what results he had yielded from the nervous twitching of my limbs, tics and shifts in my eyes. I resented myself for the awkwardness I created, born from my fear of being perceived. Unlike most, I knew he was looking.  

I was melancholic the rest of the day, a symbolic failure attesting to my general state. 

shyness is nice (and shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to)

Once again I find oracular parallels within a smiths song. I find myself responsible for my own demise in small, insidious ways.

...Why do you think you were not afraid?...

...Was it because...

...You enjoy a little fear, my girl...

...Was it because,

...To you, fear and desire are intertwined...?

The consistent state of physiological hyper-arousal I've been suspended in for most of my life leaves me with a frazzled nervous system and the nerve buzz of a broken circuit. Some satiate cerebral numbness with abusive relationships, or drugs, libation, vice: unable to feel or function outside of the looming sensation of extreme duress. My isolation has conditioned me otherwise;  I only seek to be frightened in the most fantastical of ways. The affliction is shared, though. The wires are so crossed in me, love and fear feel the same.