It is cloudy today.
In the morning, I had a short presentation, which I was quite nervous about. When I was called up, a moment of silence passed between the teacher calling out my number and me getting up; I was distracted by something, and this was a bit embarrassing for me, but as it turns out, that embarrassment was for little use. I did perfectly fine, and in the middle of talking, I was surprised by my flow of words. Granted, the presentation didn’t require much speaking, but I was proud of myself. I am proud of myself:)
It was set up to be a perfect day, but I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.
I was reading a post by Nat from Just a Nervous Girl, and I related to it very much, especially because that’s my mood right now, as it has been for the past couple of hours.
Without my depression and social anxiety, I don’t seem to be very much. I’ll say that in the most straightforward way possible- I know it’s not true, I know it. But that’s how I feel, and how I feel is how I know- or rather, at this moment, it takes precedence.
I’m obviously quite socially awkward, which makes me feel awful.
We came back from this spring break and headed immediately to school, and my poor social skills were again shunted front and center as I was forced to interact throughout my day. I very much wish that it were still spring break; maybe I could finish all of my endless homework and projects and study on time, maybe I could have an adequate amount of sleep, maybe I would have more time to relax and do what I actually want to do.
All this time trying to talk makes my energy sapped, especially when it’s cloudy outside. I starting to believe that the weather affects my mood a lot more than I think. I just don’t know what to say. And what I do say makes me feel stupid, as I force myself to make small talk that becomes noise lost in the chaos of people that actually do know what to say.
I wish I were normal, is what I’d actually say.
But what is normal? It’s been too long for me to actually know, to feel what normal feels like. It’s been years- eight years. Truth be told, there is no normal- there is just a life with mental disorders and a life without.
I’m tired of being always being the third wheel, for some people, the backup friend, the one who’s uninteresting, the one who ends up being quiet by myself because I don’t know what to say.
I wish I could discover myself under the bubble wrap and the tissue paper and the gloomy wraps of depression and fear from social anxiety. Because I feel warped right now, like an optical illusion, not enough to be one nor the other. I don’t know what’s inside, but what’s inside may have an escape route.
I don’t know what to say, but I do know what to write.
And I think that is enough.