Wednesday, November 20, 2013

You'll be okay.

"You'll Be okay."
"It Gets Better."
"It's not really that bad."
"Quit being a puss."
"MAN UP."
"Oh well at least you're (insert long arduous statement on various forms of poverty."

No... I don't think I'm okay. Not to sound depressing, or angry, or hateful, or anything negative... I have a problem, a big one. I've become aware of my own flaws and my own sort of mental quirks, and that's lead me to believe there was something wrong. And listening to a few like-minded fellows with similar creative tendencies has lead me to figure it out. I tend to over think, either overthinking the future, or the past, or the present... It's not like "OOH NO HOW WILL I EVER KEEP UP WITH ALL THESE CAR WASHES?!" It's more like a form of subconscious OCD.

"Subconscious OCD?" you ask,...

YES! Subconscious OCD. My brain's tendencies to piece together literally EVERY possible scenerio into some monster nightmare scenario, hundreds of times over, every minute, of every day. It has lead to me feeling worse than I ever have... And, now that I am aware of it, I can't fix it by myself, can't ask for help because of what the next part is going to entail, and am too afraid to go to a professional about it.

"Why don't you just ask for help then"

See the intro? That's why. I'm no pessimist, despite my increasingly negative demeanor. I prefer to see the possible good in any situation as an attempt to improve my mood, and maybe provide some sort of therapy. I can't ask for help because of a social anxiety... I'm afraid of people, and while I generally don't care what they think, It's when I have a problem like this that I become too damn afraid to do anything other than huddle up in a ball and play pokemon like the recluse I seem to be becoming.

"Why no professional help?"

Long story short, money, or rather, not having money.  Medical bills are ridiculous at the best of times, and the best thing I need in my current medical state is a consistent money pit, sucking away the dollar bills like the gas tank of my mustang...

Oh well... fuck it, i'm done, A friend of mine just told me to fuck off because I don't initiate very many conversations. Maybe i don't because there's literally half a planet's worth of lag, ,time zone difference, and the fact that i'm FUCKING DEPRESSED....

alsonoIdidntcoveritverywellbecausefuckitimdepressedandtired

-Naithan

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