The empty space of connection, the gathering, Pulses with a vibrant energy I only observe. It hums with plans already made, A detailed itinerary, a map of places where I do not go. My position is fixed: outside. I don’t move; I only watch the colors of the evening fade From my window, a slow drain of warmth and light. My world is contained, defined by sitting in the light of what I know.
The knowledge I possess is isolating, sharp: That laughter sounds much louder through a wall— Magnified by the barrier that separates their joy, A painful noise. And conversely, Silence is a heavy thing to wear, A cloak woven from unsaid words. It presses down, making breathing difficult. So, I maintain a silent vigil. I wait for pings, for any word at all, A simple notification, an anchor thrown, To prove that, in their minds, I’m standing there.
The name of “friend,” I embraced fully; We call them friends; I gave the name with pride, A sacred title for those to whom I opened life. I shared my secrets, listened to their own, Believing in a mutual exchange, a balanced scale. But now I wonder, standing on the side, A silent observer of their motion, If that foundation was solid. The crucial question takes root: If I am liked, or simply “loosely known.”
A chilling suspicion whispers of self-doubt: Is there a secret vote I didn’t see? A quiet pact to leave the chair unfilled? Or is the truth more passive, more insidious? Or is the lack of room inside the spree The consequence of slow emotional detachment? It feels like The way a dying fire is slowly stilled, The warmth receding until only ash remains. The question I need to ask is too large, too sharp to utter; It stays in my mind, a burning inscription in the dark: Do I have friends, or people I just know? Did I misjudge the reality of the bond? Did I mistake a flicker for a spark? The uncertainty is exhausting, forcing a decision: Is it my cue to turn around and go?
The core of the issue is heartbreaking simplicity: For if they wanted me, they’d find the space, They’d actively rearrange the elements of their plan. They’d reach across the gap to pull me through. This is the ultimate loneliness I face: There’s nothing lonelier than a familiar face— A face I thought knew me— That looks at everything—but never you.
A hundred hands may wave hello, My circle stretches far and wide, A glittering, expanding galaxy of faces. I wear the badge of social glow, A persona polished by years of practice, With nowhere left for me to hide.
From all the laughter, chatter, speed— The ceaseless, humming frequency Of a busy, pleasant, surface life. I move through it with practiced ease, A master of the graceful pivot, The knowing nod, the quick, witty reply.
I plant a seed of friendship in every brief encounter, But plant no need, no urgent desire, To share the fragile, intricate root of inner strife. That soil remains untouched, protected Beneath a carefully cultivated veneer.
I’m fluent in the easy grace, The casual etiquette of the crowd, The light exchange, the friendly art Of keeping things buoyant and untroubled. I hold my ground, keep pace for pace With the energy swirling around me.
But with a discipline honed by instinct, I guard the chambers of my heart. They see the joy, a bright, unburdened thing; They know the name, the accessible presence, The quick advice, the ever-ready helping hand.
But do they know the private flame? The solitary, almost sacred fire That burns when the crowd disperses? Do they comprehend the quiet wish I understand, A silent vow whispered in the empty rooms?
This is a hidden wish for something more, A hunger that the fleeting nature Of nodding, quick hellos can never satisfy. It is a desperate yearning to stand before an open door, Not just ajar, but wide, welcoming the cold draft of honesty.
And let the chosen currents flow— The true, deep rivers of thought and feeling. It means taking the terrifying risk of being seen, Truly and wholly, stripped of the social armor, Embracing the profound fear of vulnerability.
It is the urgent, essential work Of trying to bridge the gap that lies Between the friend I am—the comfortable, reliable construct— And the authentic soul I truly wish to be.
I long for souls with whom to build a sanctuary, A trust that does not need the exhausting Scaffolding of pretense. I search for the sacred space To be fulfilled, not just busy, by sharing what I hold intense— The deep convictions, the quiet sorrows, the complicated ecstasies.
These lie beneath the surface chatter. I have the crowd, the sprawling, beautiful, demanding crowd, Now I must dare the single, hardest act: To drop the stone that shields the well.
To lower the defenses, to shatter The carefully crafted stories I tell, And let the few who truly care, Those with the steady gaze and the listening heart, See past the bright, easy narratives and witness the truth held within. I want to trade the effortless multitude for the arduous, sustaining few.
The weight of a thousand eyes presses down, A silent, ceaseless judgment that I drown Within. I worry too much, an endless loop Of anxious thoughts, a psychological stoop
About how others see me—the fleeting glance, The subtle shift, the judgment they advance. Each interaction is a stage, a test, Where my own self-worth is put to the best Or worst assessment by an external gauge. I turn each minor slip into a mental cage.
I worry too much, an unrelenting fear, About whether they like me, holding me dear, Or casting me aside with cold indifference. The need for approval is a fierce presence, A hunger I can never seem to appease, Searching for acceptance on every breeze.
I worry too much, the constant, weary drain, About what others think, the imagined stain They see upon my character or my name. This scrutiny I project is a cruel game, Where I am both the player and the prize, Obsessed with the mirrors in other people’s eyes.
Why does it matter so much to me, this need To fit the mold, to plant the perfect seed Of a flawless persona in their minds? Why do I seek the validation that binds Me to their opinion, tethering my peace To whether or not their judgments cease?
The mask I wear is finely wrought and bright. I say, with forced conviction and feigned might, It doesn’t bother me. My voice is steady, low. I put, with practiced ease, a flawless show, On a brave face, a fortress built of stone, Pretending I stand confidently alone.
But the truth is, the internal tremor starts, It does bother me, deep within the hidden parts. The words I speak are often just a lie, A desperate attempt to watch the worry die. The fear of rejection is a constant, nagging ache, A vulnerability I cannot fully forsake.
I want to move on from these consuming thoughts, To sever the chains of ‘what-if’ and ‘what-nots’. I want to rid myself of the debilitating idea, That everyone has to like me, crystal clear, A fantasy that keeps me small and tight. I long to stand securely in my own light.
No matter what I say or do, the true release Lies not in their affection, but in my own peace. Acceptance is the key, the final, crucial stand. Acceptance of who I am, etched by my own hand, And the profound, unshakable belief that I am worthy, Not because they say it, but because I know the worth of me. I will claim my own value and finally be free.
Am I a difficult person to be friends with? The question echoes in the lonely silence, A heavy query, weighted by repeated pain. I dissect each word, each passing glance, Seeking the flaw so visible to others’ eyes, Yet stubbornly opaque, a shadow on my own stain.
Am I too awkward, my presence a strain? Does nervousness stilt the practiced conversation? I rehearse the words, the balance I must find, To hold the moment, a calculated equation. But the words tumble out, a chaotic, hurried rush, Leaving the perfect moment behind.
Am I too anxious, a constant, worrying hum? A fear of saying too much, of taking up space, Of simply being a burden, too large, too loud. This anxiety, palpable, a barrier I can’t erase, A repellent field that pushes people away, Before a true connection is allowed.
Do I forget to hold my tongue’s sharp edge? I value honesty, perhaps too stark and free. I speak without the varnish of social grace, And the truth, though gently offered, can still be Mistaken for bluntness, a candor that drives them out. What is it? A flaw I cannot place.
I don’t have many friends; the truth is stark. My circle’s small, fragile, and often transient. I don’t know what’s wrong, the fundamental divide. While others form bonds, lasting and resilient, Mine disintegrate like paper submerged in water, With nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide.
I am a friend until a better one appears. I serve a purpose, a stand-in for the interim, A convenient stop until a brighter option’s found. I am never good enough, always on the rim; The comparison is the moment of my replacement. I am the waiting room, not the desired ground.
I hold on too long, clinging to the frayed thread, Stretching the inevitable goodbye, a profound fear. My loyalty, my constancy, becomes a weight, A burden they let go, holding nothing dear. Sometimes I must be the one to let go first, A painful, self-preserving, final tear.
It is lonely at times, profoundly I miss The shared laughter, the feeling of belonging, deep inside. But is it real, or the memory idealized? A performance they gave, while they stood by my side, Waiting for the true cast, the better friends to arrive. In the lie of the past, there’s no place left to confide.
I will be there for those who need me to be. My nature unchanged, I offer care freely, A reliable constant, though never the primary light. If you want me to go, tell me honestly. Spare me the slow fade, the ghosting, the agonizing fight. But if you call again, I’ll return without demanding right.
Cherish the friends who remain by your side. Focus on the true constants, the precious, small few. If some want to leave, let them walk away; Their departure speaks of their needs, not a judgment on you. Accept the impermanence, hold the good memories fast, And keep the door open for the few who are true.
Social media can be tough. Being unfriended can trigger anxiety, especially when making friends feels challenging. I sometimes feel awkward, and my children have mentioned autism, though it wasn’t well-understood when I was growing up (80s and 90s).
Recently, someone I rarely spoke to blocked me. The reason, “told a lot,” is unclear. Who’s gossiping? It’s tempting to dwell on it, but focusing on trust is more helpful.
My mental health has improved significantly over the past year. While trust can be difficult, I believe in showing kindness and love. It’s hard at times, my mind races with worry, but fear won’t control me.f
Making My Way
Anxiety whispers, a familiar tune, Someone unfriended, feels out of moon. Making friends, a challenge it’s true, But I’m learning, and that’s something new.
Kids mentioned autism, a different time, The 80s and 90s, when awareness wasn’t prime. Regardless of labels, I’m growing each day, Mental health journey, leading a better way.
This person who blocked me, we barely spoke, Their reason unclear, a broken smoke. Who gossiped? It’s tempting to chase, But focusing on trust will set a good pace.
Love and kindness, my guiding light, Be the bigger person, even in the night. It’s hard, thoughts race, a whirlwind it seems, But fear won’t control me, chasing better dreams.
What is this fear that grips my heart, This feeling that I’m not wanting? What is this dread that fills my mind? Is it anxiety, or is it real?
I want to do the things I love, But I’m held back by this fear. I want to be with the people I care about, But I’m too afraid to let them near.
I’m not sure what’s real anymore. Is it my anxiety, or is it real? I can’t tell the difference anymore. I’m just lost in this fear.
I want to be free from this fear, But I don’t know how to escape. I’m trapped in this prison of my own mind, And I don’t know how to break free.
I’m just so tired of being afraid. I want to be able to live my life again. I want to be able to do the things I love. I want to be able to be with the people I care about.
Photo by FUTURE KIIID on Pexels.com (I chose this photo because it is peaceful.)
I’ve been working on my mental health, and I wanted to reach out to you all to explain a few things.
Last week, I posted a photo with the caption, “I’m sorry I don’t talk to you anymore. My anxiety told me that you hated me.” This was a reflection of how my anxiety can sometimes make me feel like everyone hates me, even when there’s no evidence to support that.
I just wanted to start by saying that I have ADHD, which means that I have a hard time focusing on one thing at a time. This can sometimes lead me to start working on something and then move on to something else without finishing the first thing. I also sometimes have to say something in the moment, and I apologize if I cut you off or move on from what you’re talking about to what I want to talk about.
I know that this can be frustrating, and I’m working on it. I’m trying to be more mindful of my attention and to listen more carefully to what other people are saying. Even if I have to get out what I’m thinking, I’m trying to remember to come back to what you were talking about.
I also found out that I have bipolar disorder. For me, this means that I experience periods of mania and depression. During my manic episodes, I feel energetic, productive, and happy. I may write 5,000 words in a day, clean the house, and cook elaborate meals. I might even bake.
Depression is the opposite of mania. During my depressive episodes, I feel sad, tired, and hopeless. I may have trouble sleeping or concentrating. I may also lose interest in activities I used to enjoy.
During my depressive episodes, I don’t get as down as some people do, but I still get down. Most of the time, this means that I don’t want to do anything. I force myself to get out of bed and work, but I don’t have the energy or motivation to do anything else. The things that need to get done get done, but the extras don’t. By extras, I mean talking to friends, writing, or cleaning the house the way it should be cleaned.
I have never felt like I was good enough. This has caused me to have problems in the past, especially with friendships. I have always said that I would never give up on a friend, but this has backfired on me. I think I used to talk to my friends too much, which came across as clingy. I just wanted to show them that I didn’t forget about them and that they were important to me.
Since then, I have stepped back and tried to be more mindful of my interactions with others. I know that not everyone is going to like me, and that’s okay. But it’s still hard for me to accept that. Because of this, I have been hesitant to reach out to people in my life, role-play, or chat with people I enjoy talking to. It takes me a while to feel comfortable and to be able to make new friends, and this has made it even more difficult for me.
The writing community can be especially difficult, as it’s very competitive. It can be hard to tell if someone is giving you genuine advice or if they’re just trying to sell you something. This has made me even more hesitant to reach out to people in the writing community.
I’m working on this, though. I’m trying to be more confident and to believe in myself. I know that I have a lot to offer, and I’m starting to realize that not everyone is going to see that. But that’s okay. I’m still worthy of love and friendship, even if not everyone sees it.
I know that I sometimes take things personally, and I’m working on that. I know this is a problem for me, and I want to be better at it.
If you’re my friend and you want to talk more or become better friends, please let me know. I know that my mind can sometimes make me think that no one wants to be my friend, but that’s not true. I want to be friends with you, and I want to make sure that we’re both happy in our friendship.
If I talk to you too much, just let me know. You can say something like, “Hey, I love talking to you, but I’m super busy right now.” I’ll understand, and I’ll back off.
Either way, we need to be honest with each other. If I do something that offends or bothers you, please tell me. I’ll do my best not to take it personally, and I’ll work on changing my behavior.
And if I don’t talk to you all that much, just let me know that you want to talk to me. I’ll make an effort to reach out more often.
I think a lot of people have this fear of being rejected or abandoned, and I’m no exception. But I’m working on it, and I’m getting better.
I’m also in therapy, and I’m talking to my therapist about this. She’s helping me to understand why I take things so personally, and she’s giving me tools to help me cope with my anxiety.
I wanted to be open about this because I think it’s important to talk about our mental health. We all have our own struggles, and it’s okay to ask for help.
If you’re struggling with anything, please don’t be afraid to reach out. There are people who care about you and want to help.
