I’m not supposed to call myself “antisocial.”
How about “socially inept?” It doesn’t have the same negative associations as “antisocial.”
You’re right, it’s not positive.
But why does it matter? It’s negative no matter how I phrase it. What matters, though, is that I’m able to be honest. And “sociable” is a far ways from honest.
You’re right, I like people. In moderation. They scare me. Also correct. Even the ones whom I know I like, and like well. But what of this “anti” and “inept?”
I said “anti” because in my fear, I find myself disliking people, strongly so. Perhaps the dislike is a form of protection—if I dislike you, if I put myself at a distance, if I push you away, if you feel antipathy from me, you can’t, or won’t, hurt me.
I say “inept” because of the situations in which I find myself with those whom I indeed like. Because of the things they say to me.
Sitting in conversation, I rely, quite near entirely, on the other to guide the words, to create a specific space for words, to construct sentences in which I fill in the blanks. In order for me to say “hi,” another must say “hello.”
Waiting on openings, waiting in silence, unaware of the fact that I am often waiting, I am told that I am too quiet, too in-my-head, unresponsive . . . inept, maybe? As in unable, without skill, clumsy, awkward, incompetent?
Yes, I think so too.