[BLUE'S CORNER]: struggling with anxiety

 

I have always been known as the shy scared cat of the family. I don't remember when it all started, but my oldest memories show me nothing else but staying cooped up inside the house and avoiding people as much as possible. It's not something I'm proud of, rather something that brought me nothing but trouble in the past and even know. 

I have wasted a lot of opportunities and chances because of it. Reliving it now by writing this, I hope I'd be able to manage it more. 

A CHILD WHO CAN'T SPEAK

I hated talking to people. 

ON the first year of kindergarten, the teacher asked us our names on the firs day of class. Fortuantely, she went to each of our seats and asked us one by one. Unfortunately for me, however, even that wasn't enough to make me feel relaxed. When it was my turn to say my name, I had to say it twice and have to whisper close to her ear cause she couldn't hear me. My voice was too small... 

It was hard to speak out my mind when even answering simple question I couldn't use my voice properly. 

Neighbors would ask me where my mom went when I stayed at home and she isn't around but then I would only nod or shake my head. 

We had a small store inside the house when I was kid but I don't remember ever helping to sell anything there. I would watch over it when my mom would fall asleep, but every time someone comes trying to buy something I would always ask for my mother, call for her until she wakes up and do the work.

I'm part of a church who has this very tight knit and social community. Everyone has to participate and be a part of the service eventually. I didn't want to be part of it at all. I have to stand in front of the whole church and I hated taht. Although it was a small church, I still couldn't do it. I would cry and throw a tanrtrum. The grown-ups would laugh while my mom scolded me, but I couldn't help but think they might have hated me for it. 

It went on and on until I entered elementary school. The girl who doesn't speak. The girl who always reads and keeps to herself. The girl who barely raises her hand. The girl who didn't stand out. And so and so.

A VOICE THAT CAN BARELY BE HEARD

A friend told me that my voice is too soft. They thought that was just a defensive mechanism, and perhaps it somehow is, but they also told me that when I started talking in front of class my voice still wasn't that loud. I would look like I'm having a hard time and that I was doing my best to speak loud but it wasn't enough, it was pitiful, I didn't really realize that it was like that.

But I was sure my voice was too soft. Sometimes, it was more the workings of the mind. It just won't come out sometimes.

When someone helps me, my voice would strain to say thank you. It was like I never said it out all. I would always say sorry even if I didn't do anything wrong, but my voice would be too small I might as well have not said it. 

There's something about using it that scares me. I worry that the words wouldn't come out right when I say it that in the end I wouldn't be able to say it at all. That if I ever make a mistake no one would be able to notice cause it would seem like I never said anything. It's a double edged sword and it has always hit me. 

HIDING FROM THE SPOTLIGHT

I couldn't stand in the limelight for long. It felt wrong for me, like I didn't belong there. At the same time, being in the light means every one will see if I ever make a mistake. 

Deep down, I probably liked the attention. It's ironic that I couldn't stand it. Just one of the ironies that I don't understand about myself. 

So, as much as possible I never volunteered. I didn't raise Mt hand even though I knew the answer. I would hide in the corner, hide in my room and choose a place where I wouldn't be seen, Maybe that's why I liked sharing stuff on the internet that much. I could pretend that people didn't notice me because the attention is fleeting. One react, one read and the attention is done. I'm not forcing anyone to look as well. One of the other reasons to it. If I stand in the spotliht, it feels like I'm holding a sign that says look at me. Isn't that too overbearing? I didn't want to be a bother to anyone.

It's the aame with sending a dm to someone as well. That notification bell that holds my name is like a spotlight I aimed at myself. It's too bright for me, like the person is staring directly at where I stand, making me think about running away. 

HIDING FROM BRIGHT OPPORTUNITIES

I could list a ton of chances I let pass and it would take me a whole day and a sleepless night of thinking and sifting through the memories of an embarrassing past that I don't want to revisit, so let's not.

Let's leave it with the fact that I could have achieved fat more if only my head didn't stop me with all the nonsense it conjured up.

IT'S GETTING SERIOUS WHEN...

Have you ever starved yourself because you can't bear to line up behind a ton of people inside the fast food chain? Have you gone through all the pain of figuring out how a project is to be done because you can't simply talk to the teacher? Have you ever pass up a number of fun activities cause you just can' handle the thought of being surrounded by strangers?

And so on... And so on...

Let's pretend you have no idea why I asked these questions. 

But yes, it's troublesome. 

STRUGGLES OF BEING AN ANXIOUS CREATIVE

I love writing. I love art. I love it when people can express their intertest on the things I create. 

But...! 

I hate that I have to initiate  socializing in order to build a follwing and an audience. Advertising is the worst of the worst. It drains me a lot It's ironic considering. I'm studying Advertising as a part of my major in college. 

Sometimes I wish I could just focus on creating and not on the advertising aspect but this is reality and that's not going to happen unless I hire someone to handle it for me. That's too much for me as well. It's hard to work with someone because then. I'd have to make sure that I reach expectations.

Well, it goes to show how it's I probably won't survive if I keep this up.

I think I've improved compared to before, but even now I still have the worries that put me in a lot of trouble most of the time 

To my fellow anxious peeps, let's hand on a little longer.

__________________ Thank you so much for reading ^^
Sketch made by yours truly

[BLUE'S CORNER]: making the best out of being a reader and a writer

 

I don't know when it all started, but before I knew it, I was noticing how I was and has been exhibiting symptoms of social anxiety. I say exhibiting symptoms because I can't say that I actually have one. They always say to never self-diagnose and so I don't. But I can't deny the obvious symptoms. They're already there. Besides, I did hear that anyone can have the symptoms and they're not limited to those who have social anxiety. I guess what's left now is a diagnosis. 

But going away to the topic of my mental diagnosis, or the lack thereof, I would like to share in this entry how I've been coping. There are these new realizations that I have had as I grew out of being a stuck-up hopeless teenager and into a not so stuck up but not yet hopeful young adult. 

I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A READER.

There's nothing wrong with being a reader. According to various studies it is a pretty good trait for a person to be. I might be acting like a bad researcher by not citing those studies I'm talking about, but you get the idea. Reading is a good habit, and I am glad I am one. 

But recently I found out that I've been relying on it too much. I don't know if it's bad, what I do know is that there's something not quite right. When you feel like you always want to be the observer in a story or maybe just one of the characters at the mercy of the novelist where you don't have to worry about making decisions, I think there's something wrong. Or maybe that's normal! I don't know. But there's more to me than just this. 

I LOVE STORIES.

Going by the track of reading, I soon realized that my love for it solely stems from my interest in stories. Eventually I came to seek them out beyond books which lead me to films, comics, manga, podcasts and many other forms of media that involves some storytelling element. That's one of my reasons to play certain games as well, why I often play otome and visual novels and the like. 

My interest in stories drew out my lack of interest in making something of my own in the real world. It was always easier to stay as an audience and never part of the cast, so I was always thinking, why bother? I don't have to be the main character when there's obviously people who already decided they will take that role for themselves. I'm fine in the sidelines. I don't have to make a story arc and make routes like those MCs in otome games. I don't have to choose which lines to say. I would, instead, not say any lines at all. 

But of course, real life doesn't work that way. We're always a part of the cast and our roles are always changing. No one is exactly a mob character forever. In fact, I don't think anyone can be a mob character in their own life. (Or maybe that's just how I see it now.)

IN THE END, I WAS LURED INTO BEING A WRITER. 

There's something about stories and books that when you're getting really into them you start wanting to make something of your own. That especially when you don't get the ending you want from a story, or you don't have enough of the bits and pieces that happened within the story because the author did not reveal them to you. Those thoughts came to me a little later, specifically the thought of fanfics. 

What came to me at the middle of my reading journey however was the urge to make my own characters move the way I want them to. I want make this whole new world for every fictional entity that lurked in my brain and somehow stayed there to bother me with their chaotic life. I say chaotic because every piece of their narratives scattered. I guess it was my job to make their ramblings make sense. (Unfortunately, I had my own ramblings, so it made hard for me to make time and jot down the the ideas that should've been plotted as a part of a book or short story. I am still struggling with this through this day.)

BUt yes, to cut things short I became a wannabe writer, through various attempts of failure of course. I tried once as an elementary student but then I was so frustrated at the fact that I couldn't get the right words out that I tore my paper and threw it out. High school attempts were more fruitful. It also helped that I was beginning to read more complicated books than before. 

SO HERE I GO TRYING TO COME CONVEY THIS CONCLUSION

I am a reader. I am also a writer. If I didn't like being the main character and making decisions on my own, then what if I treat myself as a separate character and make choices as if I'm writing and plotting out this story on my laptop? Does that make sense or am I going way overboard with crazy?

I don't know. Recently I felt more loose and less anxious because I have detached myself from my decisions. Not detached as in I don't really care what happens anymore, but more on the sense that I'm thinking in a more outward view than just focusing on what's in front of me. That has always been a struggle for me, trying to get off the loop of self-hatred and the baseless idea that I will always make the wrong decisions. It's the anxiety and fear like every time. 

But with an outward view, like looking over a set of a play instead of being inside of one of the characters, I'd be more aware of what's happening around me instead of just inside me. Again, does that make sense?

I just want to be braver and do the things I have always wanted without being anxious. (In fact, that's what I always do with the characters that I wrote. I always write them into situations where they would do the things I would've if I wasn't crippled by anxiety.)

And now here I am, slightly a changed version of what I was before... Hopefully for the better. 

_________________________ Thank you for reading ^^

featured picture doodled by yours truly

[BLUE'S CORNER]: me and the topic of productivity

 

I haven't written anything personal for the last few months. This entry is even the first for this year, 2024. So many things have changed in contrast with 2023 and I could go on and on with those said changes and maybe I won't be able to finish. So I'm not going to talk about it (for now).  

I have been reading and watching a bunch of books and films these days but I haven't found anything that has struck me like those stories I have already added to this blog. I might get another one of those soon, hopefully soon, so I can have this blog up and running again. 

In compensation, I would like to continue making more entries for my rambles. This is my personal space so I think I'm free to spill my guts here. As sanitary as possible, of course. Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell anything that specific. I'm not that brave. 

For now, here's the topic: PRODUCTIVITY. 

MY RELATIONSHIP WITH PRODUCTIVITY. 

In the past, I haven't been that particular about what I can make and what I can contribute with the time that I have in my hands. I was simply doing what was asked of me and that's it. The rest, I do what I want. 

But there's something about growing up that makes you realize you don't exactly have all the time in the world. That realization makes you want to act as if it's a rule you have to follow. By the time I found a skill I could hone and polish, I was trying to do that almost every day. 

That was most of the pandemic time. I can say I'm proud of the writing I have accomplished during those months. I even completed two novels! A number of my achievements that I always try to remind myself cause sometimes I forget. 

Sometimes it slips our mind that we have already gone far because we feel like it's not far enough. Should probably pat myself on the back and look back on my journey once in a while. 

Now, during those times, I've already known the love-hate relationship that I had with productivity. Some days I write one passage, and sometimes I can write a lot. Until I couldn't write anymore. 

I think when school came, I and my self-proclaimed image of productivity broke up. 

It was more of me being cruel to myself, I realize that now, but it's hard to convince yourself when you're in that moment when you can't seem to reach it—productivity. 




MY SCULPTED IMAGE OF PRODUCTIVITY.

It's stupid. I can't be up and running all the time. I know that. But my head doesn't comprehend. 

I often consider productivity as a drug. Gets you high till it wears off so you try to reach for it every time, but your body can't really take much of it and so you wallow in despair because you can't have it. (Way to make it sound so poetic, dear self.)




WHAT OTHERS SEE FROM BEYOND THE TINTED GLASS.

I once found it baffling every time people tell me how diligent I am for I don't think that's it. I postpone a lot of projects, I ditch a lot of started ideas and I forget about what I should be doing because of impulsiveness. That's all beyond the barrier of the screen however so I guess it makes sense. 

I do not think I am a productive person. I consider myself to be lazy albeit stressed out. Sometimes I feel like a fraud because of it. How do I keep up this image that other people have made for me?

The answer is simple. I probably shouldn't. (Brain said forget that answer, let's search and ask again. She's stupid.) 

NOW, WE COMPROMISE.

I started journaling again. I started last year. I ditched journalling after grade 10 because writing about my day every day became such a pain. Now, I do it more for the fact that I want to feel like I have done something. I write every little thing, from buying stuff at the mall to going home alone after going out. 

Writing these made me realize how much effort I put into such mundane things that aren't a big deal to some people. Perhaps that says a lot about my condition that I don't know. Hopefully, I find that out someday. 
Now, because I write those things, I create a different idea of productivity. 

I survived these personal obstacles. I'm doing just fine. Not the best, but still fine. (Wow, typing that down is so satisfying.) 


 

I already have a list of blog ideas that I gradually increased from 2023. I couldn't get the motivation to write them. It'll be the first for me to write those things and I'm thinking I should probably start. I think it'll make a difference. 

Well, thank you for reading this. I'm sorry for taking much of your time. Hopefully, I made a little difference with my words. 

— blue