A rash covers my chest and neck; my throat begins to tighten, and an innate feeling of doom sets in. Sounds a lot like an allergic reaction, right?
It’s actually anxiety, but I get this choking array of symptoms anytime that I’m supposed to be having fun. I have used allergies as an excuse on multiple occasions, saying that I’m allergic to perfume or alcohol or whatever would be convenient to explain away my purple-spotted body.
I have never been able to “let loose.” It’s not that I’m overly uptight or that I hate going out, but something about being in a setting where I’m supposed to be chill, or whatever, puts my body into fight-or-flight.
There are really two parts to my dilemma. The first is my involuntary visceral reaction to being in the situation. The second is the persona that I have adopted: that I am an unfun person. Honestly, I don’t really know where this is coming from other than the fact that I refuse to go out on Thursdays and I don’t vape or smoke.
My freshman and sophomore years, I certainly had my fair share of college fun. Was I absolutely crazy? No, but I wasn’t a homebody.
If being fun is on a spectrum, I am in the middle but edging closer to the “goes out once a year and has my arms crossed in the middle of the bar” side. Notably, this is all considering that the definition of fun that I am operating under as a college student only consists of going out.
For as long as I can remember, even when I’m trying my very best, or even manage to enjoy something, people always seem to think that I’m suffering— “Are you alright?” Well, now I’m not! I thought I was getting away with it.
There are very few people who I feel like I can actually relax around and have a good time while in a crowd. I’ll even go out sober with these people and have a fulfilling, fun time. So, I know that I am capable of being at a party or in a bar or even being fun and enjoying myself.
The thing is that I want to be having fun. I like the act of going out, and I love the idea of dancing and chatting, but most times I physically cannot enjoy it. I suppose that this means that nightlife is just not for me, but I want to know why. Why can I not say no to doing something fun and spontaneous? It feels like it’s coded into my brain: Fun equals danger.
I’m trying to teach myself that it’s safe to have fun, but until I find a better cure, I’m afraid that I’ll still be allergic to fun.