Paranoia hangovers.

Even if I remember the night before, I still have a paranoia hangover. I walk around for hours, maybe even the whole day, wondering if anything I did or said offended anybody. In fact, I'd say the paranoia hangovers are even worse when I do have plenty to remember. I turn the whole evening over and over in my mind, combing over every interaction, every conversation, looking for rudeness or inappropriateness (on my own part) or shocked looks and nasty comments (on someone else's).

I analyze my own behavior at the sub-atomic level, looking for imperfections. Was I irritable, grumpy, impatient, boorish? Loud, obnoxious? Slutty? Lewd? Stupid? Was I pain in anyone's ass? Did the barman roll his eyes when he saw me coming?

I spend Sundays mulling over the events of Saturday night in this manner. It seems perfectly plausible that everything I do is offensive, disgusting, laughable to somebody. I worry about people talking behind my back because I know that somebody, somewhere, is talking behind my back. That's what people do. They lead boring lives and they need something to talk about, so they talk about each other. Logically, by extension, someone is talking about me. They might even be doing it now. Right now. Right at this very moment.

Though there be a kernel of truth to this matter I am under no obligation to accept the whole of it as true. Just because some people don't like me doesn't mean all people don't like me (I could drawa Venn diagram if you like). Just because I judge myself so harshly doesn't mean others are doing the same. Most people probably don't notice me, think about me or discuss me at all. They probably have much better things to do, and more shocking people to talk about.

I tell myself this over and over: “Most people have better things to do than hate me, most people have better things to do than hate me,” and though I haven't quite succeeded in believing it, it must be true, because most people seem willing to speak to me on the street.