I was talking to an old friend I hadn't talked to in years last night and she asked how I was doing. I was surprised when I told her the truth, and I mean the actual truth. I never tell the entire truth when people ask how I'm doing. I don't like people knowing how flawed I really am. I'm terrified that people will think I'm crazy or something. I know I'm a bit odd but that can't be helped and sometimes I embrace it, but crazy? That's some heavy stuff. I'm probably more terrified that my friends won't like me anymore because of it. I like my friends, they're good friends and I want to keep them around. Actually I should probably say I want them to keep me around. Sure I'm depressed a lot, have all kinds of anxiety and some paranoia issues. I know it effects my health in negative ways, makes me seem lazy because it my confidence and motivation aren't there and sometimes even makes me emotionally and/or physically distant but I never want to ask for help. I guess I'm stubborn too, and I sometimes like to try to fix things myself even when I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing or where to begin. I was raised that way though. Always told to suck it up, man up, figure it out and go on with life. Sometimes it's just not that easy. Anyways, I was surprised when she told me she was the same way. It had been so long since I had talked to her I forgot she was never really much of a social butterfly but I didn't really know she had depression and anxiety issues.
She then asked me what I was doing and I told the truth again. Absolutely nothing. That finding a job, a real job, is way harder than it needs to be for me and that I attribute it to the factors mentioned before plus nothing really interests me except for what I can't do or what's damn near impossible to get into. It's funny because I never really tell the whole truth about that either because I usually just tell people I do landscaping. She told me she wasn't doing anything either and was having the same problems, job wise, because of her anxiety. I knew she wasn't doing nothing though. I knew she was going to university, as she calls it because she's Australian, and that she was always the academic type and she never had trouble there. Plus before she asked what I was doing she told me that school helped keep her mind off a lot of stuff and that she had finished her minor and was close to finishing her major. When I reminded her of this she told me that school isn't forever and that she has to move on at some point.
She then tried to cheer me up by saying I must have interests and I don't really do nothing. I told her about my interest in wildlife, cars and photography and how I was a Journalism major, and still technically am, and that's all I really like to do. I told her how I hadn't been in bands for a while, which she seemed genuinely sad about, and about how I sometimes wrote random stuff like stories, poems and music, stuff that nobody will probably ever hear or read, just to "keep my mind sharp" so I don't forget how to do it. She asked me if I still wrote articles since I had gone to school for it. I told her that only written one outside of school and that was recently, like in July. I told her it was probably absolute shit since the last time I wrote a proper article is when I was in school for it, when I was 18, that I'm 26 now and that was one thing I did forget. I told her I didn't get paid for it because I was asked if I wanted to write one for a website and I said yes. She tried to cheer me up again by saying she knew people who didn't get paid for their writings, articles, stories, etc and their stuff was great. I told her my stuff isn't great, that it needs a lot of work just like I do. She then asked a question that I didn't have an answer to. Why don't you write anymore? That was a good question. Why the fuck don't I write anymore? I told her I didn't know. She told me that if I love it so much that I should write more and not just the stuff nobody will see, but stuff that people can see because articles, like stories, are meant to be read. She told me I need to share both because that's what writers do. I told her that all my stuff is absolute trash and that nobody would like it. I guess that settled it because she told me I definitely needed to write more.
So I here I am... writing more. Writing about my problems. Writing about how somebody with the same problems told me to face my fears and confront my problems by doing the one of the things I love to do. Writing about how sometimes not talking about it, but writing about it, is still the same thing.
*I know this is complete shit but it's my first time, well I guess second time, writing anything like this in a while so.....
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