About the Shy

So we celebrated our one year wedding anniversary this weekend. The skin under my ring has a different texture thatn the rest of my hand, smooth and silky like a stone that's being polished by the current of a river. Ain't that poetic.
We went to Barcelona, a nice nearby restaurant, to celebrate. I, of course, drank too much wine. But the thing that struck me most about the night is how uncomfortable I was entering the new restaurant. It's becoming a trend, this begging off of the unknown. I would rather just curl up under a blanket in my house. I have to force myself to do things, pleasurable things, like going out to dinner or even a derby after party. I've always been shy of things, and these minor breakdowns in the face of new social situations have periodically cropped up through my life, but in the last two years or so it's become chronic. I am trying to fight it with every fiber of my being, because there is a part of me that wants to be out and about. I like trying new things, sopping up new experiences, but in the end there's always this nagging feeling of foolishness or lack of safety. I don't know what it is really; if I did, I could dissect it until it no longer existed. Instead I literally have to wrestle myself in the doorway. It's stupid and a waste of my time and I just want to be done with it.