I feel like I have no life. No friends. No reason to get out of bed on some mornings.
Every single day is an exact copy of the one that came before it. I wake up. I work. I watch TV. I go back to bed.
I wish that my life consisted of more than eating and sleeping. I wish that I had the willpower to get up and go out like a ‘normal’ person.
Even when I’m in the mood to do something exciting, I hesitate to make plans for the weekend — because what if, by the time the weekend actually rolls around, I’m in a totally different mood and hate myself for making plans and need to find a way to get out of them? What if I change my mind about wanting to meet up with someone and the thought of socializing becomes a weight crushing my chest, suffocating me?
Besides, whenever I make plans with someone in advance, that means I’m going to be stuck worrying about it the whole week. I’m going to feel my heart beat fast every time I think about the fact that I have to leave the house, that I have to leave my comfort zone, even if it’s something I’m looking forward to doing.
But making plans at the last second is even worse. I hate when people message me late in the day, asking if I’m free to hang out with them in an hour or two. I need time to prepare for my social interactions. I need to plan out what I’m going to wear and when I’m going to shower ahead of time.
I don’t like surprises. I don’t like the unexpected. I don’t like to meet up with anyone without having the time to psych myself up for it.
I don’t like reaching out to other people, either. I want them to reach out to me, to ask me if I want to see them. Even if I’m bored out of my mind and am dying to do something, I won’t ask anyone to come over. I might text them first and hint that I have nothing to do, but I won’t ask them if they’re free. The thought of and being turned down is too much for me to handle.
Sure, they might actually be too busy to see me. They might have other plans they can’t back out of. They might wish that they had the time to see me. But I’ll overthink, like I always do. I’ll assume that they want nothing to do with me. That I’m just annoying them.
I make everything more complicated than it should be. That’s why, whenever someone asks me what I’ve been up to or how my summer has been, I have nothing to say. I have no antidotes to tell. I have no life to talk about.
My anxiety makes me feel like I’m wasting my youth away, which sucks, because all I want to do is make something of myself.