Written on May 17, 2015
Anxiety (noun): “a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome”
Recently, I’ve been starting to experience what one may describe as social anxiety. I just overthink certain situations to the point where it’s better to just keep my mouth shut. When I’m feeling down and want to approach a friend for help, I feel like I’m being a bother and in turn, I just keep my mouth shut and don’t say anything.
I’ve been through these things countless of times. I already know what’s going to happen. They’ll try to comfort me, as they usually do, but it won’t be enough. I will still feel upset. My dark thoughts will still control me. The only thing they will have been able to do is keep me distracted long enough that I don’t do anything stupid. They get frustrated that they couldn’t help me while I nod off to sleep.
And then, whenever we talk, we can never seem to have the same light conversations we once used to. They’re always worried about me and I always feel bad going to them. I shut up and I say nothing. Then we go days and weeks without talking until one day, they finally disappear. I feel really bad burdening them with my issues. I know that they have some of their own, but it’s not my fault if they didn’t let me help them. I tried. I wanted to repay back all the help they gave me. But they left. I don’t know where they are. But I really hope they’re okay.
It’s strange how much you can come to care about a person in so little time. For us, we only bonded in how pathetic our lives were. We both opened up to each other, little by little, until we fought over every little thing. I think maybe it was bound to happen.
Maybe we were too different: you and I? We were once good friends though. I thought that was one thing that’d never change. Well, actually, I did have the paranoia that all my friends would eventually leave me and I guess the constant belief only reassured that it would return true time and time again.
I need to stop thinking too much. Every time I do, it draws me further and further inside a little shell. I want to scream out but I don’t want to disturb anyone. I may have countless acquaintances but I still don’t feel like I have any true friends. Anxiety may be the cause for my thirst for solitude.
My logic: If I keep myself alone and leave before they do, I won’t be hurt. No one can hurt me. I’ll keep myself safe. It sounds nice in theory and all but what if the person who always hurts you is yourself? Just some food for thought. I’ll cut myself off right here for now. I hope this topic was insightful into the kind of person I am. You’ll find out more bit by bit in this book. It’s about time I stopped wearing a mask of false pleasantries and started being myself, whoever that is.