Here I am- another week without blogging and I feel like I am missing something. I had friends on here and friends that I haven’t met. I had a voice and someone to talk to- if only in my head.
My art had an audience.
Now I am alone with thoughts and a head full of ideas and no one to talk to.
How has it come to be that I only allow myself to interact internetfully? (not a word)
Social anxiety has gotten to me many times over my blog-break.
I can’t go to the petstore to get crickets. Mostly because I don’t have a car and the nearest petstore is far away, but I should be able to get out there to take a bus anyhow.
I can’t go to the clay class that my stepmother purchased and invited me to. Not because I didn’t have a ride, but because I am too socially anxious to get my ass out of the front door.
I can’t take a walk to the pharmacy not only because it is near 100 degree weather, but because social anxiety threatens me to no end.
I wonder- what will the people out there in the wide world of one location think of me when I walk by and smell slightly bad; or look unpleasing to someone?
Mental illness should not be a problem.
No one should have it.
No one should feel this way.
No one should have to suffer.
What is the cause of this?
What makes a person experience this?
My mind wants to blame my parents and the cruel cruel world and the agreed upon “madness” of “an insane populace” who are “zombified by technology”. (not my words) However my spirituality speaks to me underneath it all. My will says it is not their fault. My research shows very plainly- thought creates. Why can’t my thought make me unafraid?
Sensitivity is often said by many people (what do you call these people?) to be as a gift and a great skill to have. It is supposed to mean you are smarter at this or that you show more compassion for that, but it stings to feel threatened and unsure. It stings to walk out and not feel safe because you may empathically pick up the abuse of the woman at the counter, or the anger of the passing teenager. It stings to think that a lot of my home life is built upon betrayal, drama, and the worst feelings in the world due to “minor” infractions.
Is it something I ate? Is it something that I have done wrong for years and years without knowing? Creating my reality without greater knowing?
I have years and years of artwork built on the assumption that to make it big as an art hero, one has to “bleed their art onto the page”. I have years and years of art made from guilt, fear, worry, and hostility at the world that I don’t know what to do with.
I know the world is better than I have made it out to be in the past. I know that there is good out there. I know there are wonders for the eyes to see. Mountains full of splendor and wonder and majesty.
But why do I feel so tossed around out there? Why do I feel I have to “fit in” and be a someone that people will not mock or make fun of? Why can’t I just feel good about the possibility that I might run into a new love life? Or a new best friend? Why have I told myself that to be a good person, one has to avoid danger, avoid eye contact and avoid the pitfalls of philly sidewalks and exhaust fumes from the passing cacophony of noises that don’t make sense to my oh so sensitive and fragile little self?
I guess I am ranting.
I hope to be back blogging more often.
I don’t think I can hold out any longer.
My audience is my friend and I deserve better than to be alone or to be caught in the mindset of sadness or upset due to not being able to communicate in a way that I feel is safe.
Or get out into the world that is around me.