SOCIAL ANXIETY AND THE MILLENIUM FALCON
Author: Brian Harrison

The combination of genetics and environment is what most learned professionals feel that our personality profiles are attributed to. From intelligence to sense of humor any measurable trait can be treated and lent to either one of these influences. The worn cliché of nature versus nurture is a catch phrase thrown around to explain the similarities between twins separated at birth or denizens of similar geographic regions, even to reactive character traits influenced by parental and other social influences.

What makes me who I am is fear. Doctors and commercials depicting a nervous little frowning circle extolling the benefits of Zoloft have come to call this fear Social Anxiety, but it is simply fear. Social is just another word for living, so it seems that social anxiety is simply a fear of living, or the fear of the society that living things encounter on a daily basis.

Genetics are surely a factor in my development, whether you believe that social anxiety is a learned condition or a born trait, if you are predisposed to anxiety by nervous dna super coils thoughtfully passed down form your parents you run a greater risk of having anxiety issues manifest themselves to some degree.

This is proven, at least in part, by repetition. I have two sisters, one who has battled bulimia for twenty years and another who has battled depression and self mutilation. I was the recipient of these genes, mostly from Mom, who seemed to exist as an agitated clot of worry molecules bathed in a mist of diet pepsi. As for Dad, he is the strong personality Dale Carnegie type who intimidated others and was an impossible role model for an anxious little boy.

What brought about the first episode of my social anxiety is long ago trapped in the recesses of my brain, and now I am left to deal with the snowballing effects if the crater it created. As a a child I had an irrational fear of almost everything, from bees and frogs to go-carts and roller-coasters. Seeing these patterns develop, my father created the Millennium Falcon list. Posted by my bed every night as a six year old, this list contained everything that I could admit to being scared of, and together my dad and I would attempt to quell these fears, and one by one they were crossed off. When the final phobia was checked off, I got the Millennium Falcon, a spaceship toy from the Star Wars movies. It was a great plan, and I wanted it to work so badly, but even at the tender age of 6, I knew that it didn’t, and I know my dad did too.

The symptoms of social anxiety can only be called symptoms by someone who doesn’t have them. To me, symptoms are something you describe when you have a cold, or are describing to the mechanic when your car stalls on left hand turns. Personally, I feel like Drew Barrymore in the movie “Firestarter“. A warm rush engulfs my whole body as my face flushes and sweat begins to roll down my face like water sheeting on a window. I become the superhero Red-Man, exposing everyone to radiant body heat and humid perspiration. Then, depending on the severity of the situation, I begin to shake as I frantically search for a literal or figurative escape from the situation. The precursor to the event is almost as bad ad the onset of the attack, as it is almost a relief when the anticipated arrives. I can remember searching the internet for relief from the outward indicators of the disorder, the most far-fetched being an operation that severs a bundle of sympathetic nerves to alleviate the facial flushing and sweating.

The most aggravating thing about having this condition is the life I have avoided while in its grasp. Talents and abilities are overshadowed by its effects and I feel shortchanged by the choices I have had to make to avoid social situations. Taking college courses has been difficult, as even the first day introductions are the equivalent of testifying before a senate sub-committee. Anxiously I await the distribution of the syllabus, dreadfully scanning the lists for any mention of the words “oral” or “presentation”. Job interviews or any type of evaluations are medicated events, and I go home to sleep off not only the side-effects of the short term prescription but to the emotional drain as well.

It has made negative contributions to my personality. I am overly critical of others because I want to be the one on the offensive, to attack others before they have an opportunity to attack me. I have turned down promotions at work for no discernable reason to my superiors, only to avoid any further scrutiny. To someone with Social Anxiety, positive stress is as loathed as the negative. Even the most passing “atta-boy” can cause the disorder to take root and flourish, leaving the victim to almost strive for mediocrity, a life with no discernable highs and lows.

I had always placated myself by the assurances that certain life altering events would resolve this situation. Getting older, getting married, having a family all seemed to be situations that would put bookends around my problem, and when seen in the big picture, would evaporate any problems I had. This type of mental procrastination only heightened the severity of my condition and delayed my attempt to get any type of treatment. It was only until after I was married and oddly enough, enlisted in the USAF, did I approach someone about my problem. It seemed like an odd choice, for someone with a fear of authority figures to join an organization that was so inundated with them, but at the time was the only choice I had. My fear had kept me from pursuing any type of formal education or training outside of high school, and I now had a family to support.

The biggest enemy that I had was myself , and any type of self generated treatment prescribed by doctors was met with scorn. I didn’t understand how a generic handout on breathing exercises would in any way abate the symptoms. I have been prescribed many drugs, including beta-blockers to interfere with my body’s reaction to adrenaline. Anyone outside of medical circles that I even attempted to talk to about my problem would always try to sympathize by saying, “yeah, I don’t like giving speeches either”. Trying to explain to them that giving a speech would result in spontaneous combustion on my part was pointless.




I have a loving wife and 2 wonderful children. I am currently taking Paxil, and although it has a checkered reputation in medical circles,it has helped me to attempt a normal life.
I am back in college, and this time have yet to drop a class because the classroom was to small or there were too many people or no windows or the teacher called on students excessively. I enjoy playing with my kids and attempting quiet time with my wife, which is about as difficult as an oral presentation. I enjoy taking repeating swings at a little white ball in an attempt to beat it down the fairway. Most of my free time, though, is dealing with Yu-Gi-Oh Cards, and the direct correlation between buying them and a five-year olds behavior at school. As for the Millennium Falcon, it crash landed just shy of the Sea of Tranquility, eagerly awaiting repair.






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MWF 2 children Spouse Stacy college student 30 yrs old

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