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Gratuitous Picture Of My Near-Future If I Keep Doing What I Do

The Dirty Thirty: I’m Freaking Out!

This is very likely to happen, at that point.

I wanted to add something. Something smart and insightful. But I don’t know what.

I’m scared of life. It terrifies me. I don’t like to be like this, I don’t want to stay with my parents forever just because my mum cooks well and I don’t have rent to pay. I want a job, I really liked it when I was working at the library during the summer. I do want to move forward, but everything scares me. I know I can do stuff that other people don’t do because of fear, a lot of people told me I was brave to go to England when I did. I don’t know why. I wanted to go there, I’ve been able to do it, so I did. I try to remember that sometimes, though. When I really feel like a fucktard.

Yesterday, I saw a short post about Social Anxiety on Tumblr and I think it might the source to everything.

I’m shy. That’s a fact, known in my family since I’m very young.
The thing is, I don’t exactly know since when, but it’s been a certain amount of years and being anxious because you’re going to buy some bread at 22 is obviously not just shyness. When your heart races because you’re going to call the hairdresser (the same as usual) to have your hair cut before celebrating your 25th birthday is obviously not just shyness. Not being able to go to a place where you’re going to talk to someone just because you’ve never been and can’t go alone when you’re 20 (or more, that one still works) is obviously not just shyness. Being anxious because you should return to the library where you worked and now know people is not shyness. I know them. They know me. They seem to like me. But still, I went there this week, only last time was in, what, October I think.
I already have trouble being with people I know, I already have trouble being with my friends without wondering if they notice this or that and judge me about it (in my head, it’s not that they don’t, it’s only that they do and don’t care, but that kind of thinking  only works for, like, 4 people, including my sister), so being in front of someone for a job interview? Someone who’s probably supposed to give a fuck that you’re 25 and have had a job for a total of 11 months in your entire life? Thinking about it makes me feel uncomfortable, it makes my heart beats faster, and it makes me sweat. But then again, social interaction in general has that effect on me.
Parties including people I don’t know? Anxious about it from the day I know I’ll be going.
Plans to meet friends? On the worst days, I did cancel stuff just because I couldn’t find the courage to go.
Replying to a tweet from a person I don’t usually talk to? LOL
Sending a text to a friend I haven’t texted in months? Write and delete, it’s only going to be awkward, I don’t really know them anymore.

So. There’s that.

Then, there’s my inability to do stuff. How on earth do I imagine to become an author when I don’t even work on my crap? How? To be honest, it’s been months since I last opened the files, but I spent those months without the fantasy of becoming an author. But shit, this is what I want to do, so why don’t I put my bloody ass on a chair and work on it?
And it’s actually the exact same thing about my studies. I chose to start that again. I fought for it. I barely work on it.

I don’t want to make excuses for it, I do have bursts and actually work, quite periodically, but it’s far from enough and I know it. I try to make them happen more often, but I also feel like there’s a reason for this and knowing it would probably help me.

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