I CAN’T BE seen. You brush past me and I’m not there. When I try and speak, the words hold each other back. When I do speak, it’s futile. You can’t hear me. Or if you do, it’s dismissed. I’d prefer death. I’d prefer not to breathe than try to speak to you. It’s a long time coming. But my shyness could be what’s nearly killed me.
23 years. Roughly. That’s how long depression has forged its way in and out of my life. What’s puzzling, is why has it taken up until the last few months of my life to link childhood shyness to depression.
Depression. Mental illness, yes. But is it more than that? Can it be an emotional illness? I remember when the suppression of emotions hit. It wiped me out. The darkness. It would take four years and continued, severe panic attacks to eventually seek treatment. This was 1997.
You have to help yourself too
Then you sail without control, on the periphery. You consider suicide. You let it become a part of your thinking. How you control your mood. It becomes a comfort. Pieta House works. But you have to help yourself too. But how did it come to this?
Shyness and quietness lived in solidarity. I was a happy child. But sensitivity to the world around it was all encompassing. Life’s fleeting challenges and interactions, didn’t bounce off me. Every interaction would sink in. Every negative interaction, innocuous as it may have been or not, analysed forensically. Yet there was no real vent. Because everything was held back.
Every bit of anger was held within. Like any child, I fought with parents and siblings. And that, along with love, made it the safest of places. But as independent social interaction grew, I retreated. At ten I recall my first want to end my life. It was no other reason than I was sad. I had every opportunity: sport, drama, school, cub-scouts. Every opportunity to find a release valve.
But I wasn’t made that way. All pain was sent inward. The sadness of not feeling a part of something. Of not being strong. Not being able to engage in a full way. It all processed itself, in a negative way.
Childhood shyness to teenage depression
My own trajectory was a long progression from childhood shyness to teenage depression. The shyness was centred around a lack of confidence to speak, to interject, to express and to feel outwardly. I still struggle in this regard.
I told a friend recently I write better than I speak. He said he speaks better then he writes. Both have their strengths. But ultimately expression is paramount.
There are ways though. Ways to help yourself. To help others. To help young people. To stop them from harming themselves.
Moving out of your comfort zone is a start. Putting yourself in social situations without considering it. Retraining how you think about people. Starting conversations. Your words aren’t poison. Not everyone is going to embrace your warmth. But most will. And stop punishing yourself. When you feel isolated and apart, let yourself be consumed by other things.
But at the root of shyness, is sensitivity. Sensitivity can be the greatest gift if used and channelled in the right manner. Or it can help destroy you.
I can only speak for me. Sensitivity led me to retreat inward and ultimately to stand on my own feelings until they took my feet from under me. But use it right and help those you care about utilise their sensitivity.
Dance in your kitchen with your son who won’t dance in public. Speak to your friend outside of your protected comfort zone. And look inward, sure; but then set it loose. In any way that feels right for you. Because ultimately, all that really matters, is how you feel. And if you feel sad inside, that’s not the place for those emotions to settle.
Brian Strahan is a freelance writer and author, writing on sport and mental health. He can be found on Twitter @StrahanBrian.
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