Hiding Under the Window

To go back to the start, so to speak, is proving something of a difficulty. Naturally I know that my problems must have started somewhere/sometime but for the life of me I cannot pinpoint the moment that the black dog first appeared on my tail. Although I can say with absolute certainty that the rapid escalation in his size and power began in earnest some years ago, when my family chose to relocate, I am hesitant to label this as the crucial moment of his birth. Even before then certain things were more than a little off in this head of mine.

Social anxiety in particular wasn't anything new to me, even as a child I remember that I consistently found it hard or almost impossible to interact with others (child or adult). Perhaps that is just part of my genetic makeup or attributable to some lack in my upbringing; who can say? Generally it's always been the case that someone else has had to put in the initial and greater effort to gain my acquaintance and friendship, part of what deters people I'm sure. It's not that I especially want to be standoffish, it's that I genuinely find it hard to be anything else; I don't know how to be anything else.

It is with mild shame now I look back on the fact that I used to frequently hide from my best friend. She lived next door and came over like clockwork every day after school finished. I would almost always see her coming, skipping across the front lawn. And then, on far more than one occasion, I'd hit the ground under the window and simply ignore the doorbell ringing. This only worked when my mother was out, naturally.

Why did I do this? Some days I would just find that facing another human being was simply too much for me, even though in this case it was a person who I knew incredibly well and had known for as long as I could remember... Perhaps the rest really is no wonder then.