Jen's Journal

The green velvet couch fills up with people before I have a chance to finish my drink.

I look down at my hands and pick at the skin around my fingernails to avoid conversation.

I listen to what the voices are saying, but I don’t know how to respond.

If I smile enough, laugh, and nod at the right moments, no one will question my lack of dialogue.

I wish I could be the type of person to speak my mind.

I wish I could say what I’m thinking without worrying if I said the wrong thing.

But I don’t have enough drinks in me, and social situations make me anxious.

It reminds me of school.

Sitting in the single seats and pretending to be writing something so I wouldn’t get called on.

I’d Bite my tongue even if I knew the answer because I didn’t want to seem too eager.

Dreading the tingly numbness in my sweaty hands and accelerated heart rate that came with

presentations.

If I got a voice, it was to use it; my mother used to say.

What about all the times someone told me to be quiet?

All the times I finished speaking, and no one knew how to respond to my strange phrases?

Maybe someday this will get easier. Or I’ll just have to be drunk for the rest of my life.