People talk over me all the time, and I can’t help but take it as rejection. My neighbour Mack is a prime example. Five years older, a dozen houses down, and the sort who doesn’t converse so much as broadcast, especially to easy prey like me, the nervous listener.
Living with a fear of rejection that’s basically trashed my life, I keep to safe conversational ground. Sometimes, I try a different approach – blurting out something a bit bold, hoping to grab some positive attention by actually voicing an opinion.
When I moved into my home a couple of years ago, I renovated the front garden, which meant more exposure to the outside world – dog walkers drifting past, small talk hovering in the air like poison. Mack doesn’t have a dog, but he roams the neighbourhood anyway, ex prison officer chest puffed out, reminding everyone he “worked hard,” that he owns his house outright, and that his opinions are non negotiable. Bring back hanging. Throw them all in the sea. As for people like me, with AvPD – he insists he could “sort us out”.
When I say people talk over me, I know I’m not the only one. It’s as if the whole point of socialising is to chase validation. We all do it to some degree – but some of us are willing to let others speak, at least pretend to listen, and, crucially, not interrupt every two seconds.
When people talk over me, it leaves me feeling worthless to the point of fantasising about life after death. And that’s why we have AvPD; because our reactions are so strong. Normal everyday people might feel a bit hurt, or it might not even bother them, but they don’t have these awful inner responses.
I’m also aware that non socially anxious people make friends easily and won’t want to bother with someone like me who’s utterly boring to talk to, not to mention stilted and mega awkward.
I really did have to give the front of my house a makeover, but I also hoped there would be some lonely people walking by who also found it hard to make friends, and this is when I met Mack; similar to me as in being lonely and struggling to make friends, but the complete opposite, too.
After two weeks of being out front, I realised that apart from Mack, everyone else had that casual polite air of confidence and joy in life – so I returned to my default mode and only went out when the coast was clear.
Mack knocked on my door a few times “to check I was all right,” which was really him topping up his energy by depleting mine. He assured me a few times that he wasn’t trying to chat me up – and, well, lucky me, I’m not his type anyway.
Well he’s definitely not mine. His teeth are almost all missing and the rest of them are brown and covered with saliva. His round head on his too short body looks odd – and apparently even his sister thinks he’s an idiot and doesn’t talk to him. So not only is he ugly, he also has a shit personality.
On a sweltering day of 34 c I decided to cut my ties with him. Mack caught me out front when I wasn’t quick enough to scan for humans. He said he was tired. I said the hot weather didn’t help. I suggested he drink water. He laughed: “Thanks, Kate, I’ve not got to 65 without knowing to drink water.”
That was it. Done.
Maybe most people would laugh along but that comment really made my heart sink. Was I being over sensitive?
For ten days after, he knocked on my door. Every. Bloody. Day. I even bought a doormat: GO AWAY — unless you’re Royal Mail or have a parcel — otherwise KEEP WALKING. Perfect AvPD decor.
Eventually, I had to go to the closed door and say that I wasn’t dressed and that I was ok, because he just wasn’t taking the hint. He knew then that I wasn’t interested and he sounded so deflated – which made me do a happy dance. Now he knows how it feels.
I win because he needed me more than I ever needed him.
Some days I see him shuffling past my house, shoulders low, looking dejected. Other times he latches onto someone else, and then all I hear is his booming voice carrying down the road, guffawing and draining the life out of whoever’s stuck listening.
Honestly, people talk over me because I’m insecure and feel nervous about what to say because I don’t want the rejection. But I won’t stand for it if it’s a regular thing. I just can’t.
As I mentioned above, Mack claims he’s met “loads” of people like me. I doubt it. But it did get me wondering how he would actually “fix” people with AvPD and who he thinks has it.
AvPD According To Mack: A Masterclass In Misunderstanding
I once met a bloke at a wedding who went outside for some air instead of listening to my story about mortgages. AvPD. I fixed him by following him out and finishing the story.
There was this lad in prison who didn’t say much. Classic AvPD. I sorted him out by telling him to ‘man up’ and talk louder. Worked a treat. Well, he still doesn’t talk to me, but that’s progress.
I can fix anyone with AvPD. I meet them everywhere – at parties, down the pub, even in Tesco. I’m pretty sure my GP has AvPD because she never wants to hear the full story about my hip replacement. I could fix her too.
Every teenager I see with headphones on? AvPD. I shout loud enough and they eventually look at me. Sorted.
I reckon my postman’s got AvPD. Always posts the letters and walks away without chatting. I help him now by standing in the driveway so he has to talk to me.
I went to a funeral once and half the people there looked miserable, barely said a word. Whole room full of AvPD. I cheered them up with a joke about the coffin. Fixed the lot of them.
Saw a bloke at the bus stop staring at his shoes instead of talking to me. AvPD. I fixed him by standing closer and telling him about my pension.
Every time I knock on my mate’s door, his wife pretends she’s not home. AvPD. I fix her by peering through the letterbox until she answers.
I saw a teenager cross the street to avoid me. AvPD, plain as day. I fixed him by crossing after him and making sure he heard my views on politics.
Saw a young bloke eating his lunch alone in the park. AvPD. I fixed him by plonking myself next to him and telling him how much my house is worth.
People talk over me, and Mack thinks he can ‘fix’ it – but he’ll never understand AvPD, or that sometimes shutting your mouth or asking questions is the only kindness anyone needs.
While writing this, I started thinking about TV characters, especially in soaps. It’s like Instagram for personality – everyone is sharp, witty, and effortlessly capable. I tried to think of a character anywhere on TV with social anxiety, let alone AvPD, and came up blank. Then it struck me: just as advertising photos are now expected to look ‘real,’ shouldn’t personalities reflect reality too? Sure, there are a few awkward characters here and there – Roy in Corrie, for example – but it’s about time prime time TV showed a few quiet, nervous personalities. Not only would it provide balance, it might also stop so many of us from feeling inadequate just for being ourselves.