<p>I’m sorry if this isn’t the right place for this, and I’m truly truly sorry to be using the Parent Cafe as a big, whiny personal help forum. The truth is that I have nowhere else to turn. Be warned, this is angsty, but depression doesn’t exactly bring out the best in people.</p>
<p>Skip this part if you want. I think it may be relevant, but it’s probably just a stupid rant.</p>
<p>I’ve always been a very shy, cerebral, introverted type who would be known for displaying erratic flashes of humor. Mostly, I was the taciturn nerd who few people talked to, but there was a consensus that I was “one of the funniest people in the school” because I could come up with some brilliant one-liners, crazy obsessions, or classwork-related satire that would fire everyone up. One of my carefully placed sentences could inspire amusement for days, but I was a complete dunce at everyday conversations, almost cripplingly so. I just took this all for granted, as is common with things that have recurred since early childhood. I didn’t really try to explain it. Perhaps my intelligence allowed me to concoct humor and likeability when premeditated, while my otherwise awkward nature prohibited me from participating in the mere basics of the social spectrum. Well at least, I told myself, people liked me in a cult-like fashion; I was definitely one of the most well-known, and even well-liked, people in my school. Imagine a quiet, unassuming, acquiescing kid who makes you laugh, severely, on occasions; yeah, a truly pleasant clown!</p>
<p>I could have easily carried on in ignorance, telling myself with barely conscious, fleeting thoughts that I just don’t have the talkative type of personality, I’m not a people person, normal interaction is dull and boring, etc, etc. Yet nothing throws a bone in a teenager’s neat, egotistical self-perception like falling in love. Now one long relationship later, one which forced me to acknowledge and face many of my avoidances, I’m much more self-aware.</p>
<p>Now let me get to the point.</p>
<p>Three forms of communication: instant messaging, phone, and direct (face-to-face). We’ll call the former “text”-based and the last two “voice”-based. Frankly and simply, I’m amazing when it comes to text and an invalid with my voice. This isn’t even akin to pulling off a planned spoof in class because instant messaging is in real-time, so basically one is transferring thoughts into text and one is transferring thoughts into speech.</p>
<p>I get engrossed in text conversations in ways that I never thought possible in voice interactions. I genuinely like making small talk online. I feel in control. I have things to say, relevant, original, and amazingly funny things; honestly, not to toot my horn but I’m sometimes shocked at how charming/witty I can be without even trying, and how, as someone who lets social situations “happen” to them, I’m able to lead and direct and mold the mood and themes of a text convo. With speech, I’m like a deer in the headlights; with text, I’m in my natural habitat. Speaking is exhausting, and it fizzles. I can converse with text for hours, and it’s energizing.</p>
<p>More importantly, the range of emotions and feelings available to me is astounding. I feel alive, like I’m actually human, when typing everything out. I can read feelings and sentiments more quickly based on the syntax and diction on a screen than with a real live human voice. I can convey more passion, more variety, and more authenticity by typing than by talking; what’s more, I can actually FEEL them. There’s something wrong here, I think.</p>
<p>Oh, and I’m not exactly the creative-writing sort who is absorbed in fantasy books all day and crafts different personas for fun. I don’t even like fiction. I have a steady, stable personality online. This is the real me. What a shame, no? I have friends who talk to me exclusively online, and I don’t blame them. I just want to know what exactly incapacitates me in the real world.</p>
<p>This isn’t a case of self-confidence because I sure pulled some risky gaffes in the classroom. And it’s not often that I’m too timid to say something. It’s more that nothing comes to me.</p>
<p>This isn’t a case of getting to know people better. I remember how I would strongly prefer IM’ing my girlfriend and emailing my mom rather than speaking to them.</p>
<p>The only thing I can think of is I have a difficult voice - low in tone, hard to differentiate sounds, often uncooperatively tongue-tied - and a few slight impediments like a lisp, but nothing major.</p>
<p>I do like people, I do crave social interaction, whether intimate or casual or brash, and I am now withering because the euphoria of establishing a genuine connection with another human being is slowly dying and I’m left here realizing that I’m nothing but a slave who can’t leave his text-inducing machine.</p>