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Life has been insane for so long I’ve not had time to just sit back and think. Which means all my emotions have been living in the depths of my soul waiting on their moment to shine. I’ve lived with anxiety and depression my whole life. They each manifest in different ways. The anxiety used to show its ugly face when I was driving. If traffic was bad or I was stuck on an onramp or in a tunnel I’d go into a state of panic that scared everyone who had the misfortune of being in the car with me. I don’t have that issue as much now. Probably because I tend to just stay home these days. Depression has always shown itself as general “meh” feeling about things I am normally excited about. For the past year or maybe more I’ve been in what I call management mode. Essentially I’ve been managing each bit of news (worldwide and personal) with a calm “OK here we go then” attitude.

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just stop there and be like, “yeah that’s all I wanted to say in this blog thanks for reading bye.”

Things are starting to level out on a personal level despite the tornado of bullshit we’re dealing with as a nation. And that means all the thoughts and feelings are clawing their way to the surface. For the first time since I was a moody teenager I had a full day of severe depression. Where every song felt personal and everything I read, saw or heard was tear inducing. Anyone who knows me well understands what a wild event that is. I am not sure any of my friends have seen me cry. Okay maybe once during “Inside Out” and once when I made the mistake of giving my heart to someone who didn’t deserve it, but otherwise I am stoic and dry eyed. I don’t have a problem crying about animated characters but I’m still angry about the other thing.

Anxiety has been showing itself in the form of writer’s block. I usually have it, off and on, throughout any given month. This has been longer than ever. Obviously I’ve made a breakthrough over the past couple of weeks but now the words are coming with a new wrinkle. Panic.

Last week when I posted my blog entry it came with a deep sense of fear. Yes, it was a deeply personal entry and yes I wrote words I hadn’t really said to anyone, including myself, but the idea of sharing the entry on social media made my heart beat fast and my breath erratic and I’ve never had that before. Aside from the nature of the blog there was something else poking at my subconscious. Who’s going to care enough to read anything you write?

I’m a creative person. No matter what my logical brain says. Because of this I tend to feel the need to share things. In a blog, on social media, somewhere, and always in writing. With that comes the need to be seen, or at least have the words I’ve written read. The catch-22 in that is the Internet broke me a long time ago. So I’ve done a lot of things like write out replies and comments to people who’s opinions I both agree with, and don’t, and then I erase them because I know no matter the intention the interpretation is up for grabs and nine times out of ten that goes horribly wrong.

What does all this mean and why am I waxing on about it? I get the irony of it all. I need interaction to have my words seen, but I won’t interact because my words get taken out of context and I’m done fighting for my life on the Internet. So the one thing that used to give me solace from the anxiety and depression is the thing giving me anxiety and depression. Most people write to get the story on the page and some people never intend on sharing it with anyone. I write to share. And if I don’t have anyone to share with, I don’t have a reason to write. At least that’s why my brain says.

What I’m trying to do right now is write a blog a week in preparation for my annual November writing challenge (NaNoWriMo) and get used to the idea that I’m writing stuff that may never get read. To anyone who does read these, I thank you.