opia

I love words with passionate, tragic definitions. The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows is right up my alley. 

Opia
n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.

I've always been terrified of eye contact, which in a professional situation–like conversing with a teacher or being interviewed or being spoken to by your boss–is incredibly rude. I force myself to make eye contact with people now. Fake it 'til you make it, I guess.

Monachopsis
n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach–lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you'd be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home. 

I felt like this my whole life, until I got to New York City. I never stopped feeling at home in the city, sometimes you just get tired of your home.

Rubatosis
n. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat, whose tenuous muscular throbbing feels less like a metronome than a nervous ditty your heart is tapping to itself, the kind that people compulsively hum or sing while walking in complete darkness, as if to casually remind the outside world, I'm here, I'm here, I'm here.

My heart has been pounding lately, and often when I don't even realize I'm anxious. This also reminds me of a quote from one of my favorite books The Bell Jar, when Esther is listening to her own heartbeat. I am, I am, I am.

Astrophe
n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head–a crisp analysis, a cathartic dialogue, a devastating comeback–which serves as a kind of psychological batting cage where you can connect more deeply with people than in the small ball of everyday life, which is a frustratingly cautious game of change-up pitches, sacrifice bunts, and intentional walks.

Ugh, every day of my life. There's never enough time, or even any opportunity, to say the things I really want to say to certain people.