The mildly introverted extrovert

I have this problem that has plagued me ever since I was diagnosed with depression.  I avoid things.  I don’t honestly know why.  I thought that maybe I really didn’t want to deal with the social capacity of things.  Or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with the organization of it all.  Case en point.  My good friend told me about a great ball game to go to that was going to have fireworks after it.  She told me this on Thursday, and said she and some other mutual friends were going.  I loved the idea of it, and I even looked up tickets for it.  When she texted me again on Friday to ask if we had thought about it, I told her I didn’t have a chance to talk to my husband yet (lie) and I would get back to her once we had discussed it (probably another lie).  It got me through Friday, and when I texted my husband he sounded interested.  “Let’s talk about it more later” I texted him (lie) and went about my day.  We didn’t talk about it.  And now it’s Sunday, the day of the game and fireworks, and I realized I didn’t do anything about it.

The weird thing is, I knew it was there, waiting, hanging out in the back of my mind.  I KNEW it was there, but pretended it wasn’t, pretended “not to remember” as I figured my texts (or lack thereof) would indicate.  I got busy with other things, and just kept pushing it the back of my mind.  It was definitely there, but I just pretended to forget it.

I didn’t though.  Forget it, that is.  I knew about it, thought about it, and wondered how we could work it out.  I tried to push it from my mind, as my aloof text would make it seem, but I ruminated over it and discussed it with myself.  Why would I do this?  I haven’t a clue.  I have done this for the past 13 or so years.  Ever since I was unofficially diagnosed with depression (and then later I was official), I avoided certain situations.  On purpose.  And I felt guilty the whole time I did it.

I will never understand why I do it.  I avoid certain situations because I suppose I feel like it’s easier to do so than to deal with it.  But ultimately, I don’t.  I think about it after, I wonder what it would’ve been like, I regret it, and I ruminate.  Oh lord, do I ruminate.  But I do it all the same.  I have missed playdates, fun nights out, and now, I chance to go to the ball game with my kids.  I thought at times it might be because I am homebody or because I’d rather not be social.  But that’s the even weirder thing: I love to socialize.  I love to be out, dancing, chatting it up, enjoying a night out.  So why the hell do I do it?

I wish I could tell you.  Maybe if I could, I wouldn’t be here.  Instead I would’ve been at the game, making memories that I would talk about, Facebook check-in about, and think about tomorrow, when my older two would be so tired from the fun night we had that I would complain.  Instead,  I will sit at home, get them ready for a shower, drink a beer, and then probably end up in bed myself by 8:30 pm.  And regret it over and over.

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