1066 All Stars

Whilst I try not to regret too many things in life, it is inevitable that some will occasionally bubble to the surface.

One in particular keeps coming up for air, clinging to the back of another thought. I often find myself consciously pulling away from others.

This manifests itself where the group is enjoying shared humour. I very often find that, instead of joining in, I withdraw, which in turns serves to make me feel isolated. Socially, I devalue my contribution, telling myself that I would not be missed if I wasn't there, effectively declaring that my presence is of little consequence. Invitations are viewed as the fulfilling of a duty, rather than a desire to share my company.

The regret? I didn't used to be like this. In my 'former life' I was the gobby one, leading the banter, acting the clown. Now I feel reserved, bereft of the confidence I once had, founded by familiarity and (relative) seniority. Two and a bit years later, I still feel the outsider, a 'plus one' invited to someone else's party. By exception I allow my sillier side to emerge but more often than not I suppress it, which in turn fuels a bitterness and resentment. I think to myself, 'If only they could have seen the old me.'

The irony of course is that the 'old' me ended up in therapy. Generally speaking, I much prefer the 'new' me. Yes I am more serious but I am also more empathetic, more emotional and, I think, kinder. And yet I very often find that, when others share happiness, my own mood sinks. Not in a grumpy, miserable way. Instead an inherent sadness as I feel almost a literal weight in my stomach pulling me down. There is no threat of them but I don't know how else to describe the feeling other than tearful.

As with all things, there is likely a balance between old and new that I simply haven't found yet. But I'll keep looking.