Hello, me again. Yep. More of the same old anxiety bullshit to come over the next few hundred words but hey, it’s your own fault for clicking the link. This follows on from my second blog which itself follows on from my first blog. Crazy, right? Well, I say follows on…they’re all pretty much the same.
The reason behind the massive gaps between blogs isn’t just because I can’t be arsed, but because I feel like nobody cares; why would anyone want to read about my troubles? Everyone else has much bigger problems than mine and it would be selfish to document and burden others with mine. But then, I need to put my thoughts down somewhere from time to time otherwise I may explode and based on how fat I am, that would not be a pretty sight. So if you’re reading this, thanks. If you’re not, that’s okay…my problems aren’t your problem. But if you’ve seen this then you’re already in the first category, even though you still probably don’t care. As I write this, I try to think if it’s something I covered in the last blog: the anxiety of posting. It probably was, but I’ve come this far and deleting this paragraph now would significantly lower the word count.
Have you ever feel like someone hates you? Yes, most likely. But what about a feeling that everyone hates you? I leave the house in the morning and constantly feel like I’m being judged for what I wear; how I look; how I cross the road, how I walk; what I buy in the shop. It makes me feel sick and it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. I don’t want to be me and you know, it kinda hurts. I can’t help but feel if I was someone else my life would be easier – if I had some self confidence; the ability to communicate and not doubt my own skills.
Imagine having feelings so strong for someone that it makes you want to fucking burst, but you can’t do anything about it; you’ll never be able to do anything about it. All because of the above. Most people would just start a chat on Facebook, talk to them. Not me. I catastrophise. Everything bad that could possibly happen will happen and oh boy, it will definitely happen. And then I start thinking too hard, and the chest pains start; I feel like maybe I’ll have a heart attack; I think about my heart condition and then I wonder what will happen. Apply this to every situation and it just loops. But then you catastrophise what would happen if you don’t do something. So you’re stuck in the middle. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. There’s no escape from your own mind.
So…uni. I’ve come to the end of my second year, again. I changed uni courses after two years because I wanted to get back into performance and it was totally, absolutely the right decision. I feel much more fulfilled and like I’m actually getting to where I might want to be. But I’m really struggling to socialise and interact with the other people on my course. Going into a new course in the second year meant everyone was already connected and whatever, and that and my terrible brain just makes one big NO. Doesn’t really help that one person in particular has been rude as fuck every time I’ve even tried to speak to them – thanks, really helping there :). I get it if you don’t want to talk to me, whatever. You don’t have to be patient with my stupid anxiety but at least be a nice person. I’ve done nothing to you. If you had any shred of decency you’d see that maybe I’m struggling bit and a least be civil. But no, okay. Whatever. It’s just meant I’ve felt like I’ve not really completed many of my modules to my full potential because I’m more concerned about what people think of me and how I’m acting, but there you go. And that’s uni.
As you can see, I’m really running out of free stock images to use now
I have things to look forward to every week. And I do look forward to them. I enjoy them. But I worry that others think I’m not enjoying them because the whole thing is still overwhelming. But it doesn’t mean I’m not having a great time. My face is just constantly, as the saying goes, like a slapped arse.
Hopefully one day I’ll be able to walk into a room, even full of people I know, without feeling like I’m going to have a heart attack. Maybe I’ll be able to start conversations with people I want to start conversations with, without feeling like my chest is being crushed. Maybe I’ll stop punishing myself for having feelings. Maybe I’ll be able to work out what feelings are. Maybe I’ll be able to enjoy what I love. Maybe I’ll stop telling myself that my problems don’t matter because other people have greater issues. Maybe it’ll get easier. But for now I guess I’ll have to keep trying to mill on by. And that’s life.
I like to keep these posts as vague as possible, and it probably isn’t working very well, so that’s why it probably feels a bit disjointed. But anyway…here’s a gif of my brain:
PS: great title, right? Took me all of twelve seconds to come up with it.
Oh and also, people have messaged me about this on Twitter and Facebook etc, which I didn’t expect, but I’m more than happy to talk about it.
Gif sourced from here