music, books, love and kindness

I used to write all the time because I found it healing and because I love writing. For more than 25 years I wrote in my private journal almost every day.

Now, when I try to write, either nothing comes out of my head or I feel like I have no more passion, no more things to say.

Writing used to help my anxiety, but now I think my anxiety is keeping me from writing. I feel anxious about so many things, more than ever. My cat helps me with with my nervousness, but I worry that maybe he feels what I feel too and I don't want him to feel anything but peace and as much happiness as a cat is capable of in this world, or any.

So many people experience anxiety, so many. I see them every day where I work, flinching just like I do when there is a sudden, unexpected loud noise, looking up to see the cause.

I recognize fellow shy people at group events, at the grocery store, at the doctor's office. Some of us push past that shyness and fake it so much you would think we are really extroverts. Others can't push past their shyness and come across as disinterested, a snob, uncaring.

It doesn't matter what is true or not, when perception is reality. There are people who are exactly the opposite of how they come across: curt people who are actually kind, nice people who are actually ready to stab you in the back the second you've relaxed your guard.

The hardest thing about being socially anxious is that it keeps you from truly getting to know someone, if you're lucky enough to have people who want to get to know you.

If only I could feel as comfortable around humans as I do my cat, I think I'd be a more chill, more socially adept person.

Rambling in my thoughts and words and sending this out to anyone else who is feeling anxious and is different than they come across to people.