Maybe the reason I’ve been making progress with my social anxiety is partly due to the fact that I simply have nothing to lose any more. And when you don’t care, it makes you stronger. It’s one possible cause. I don’t think it’s the only one.
But while realising how I’ve progressed was an uplifting event, tonight is melancholy, the counting of losses and unhappinesses night.
The thing I want most right now, more than any other thing in the world, would be a fun, imaginative, positive and playful friend.
I am so terribly bored with the unimaginativeness of adults and so alone with my sense of play. Even my particular brand of loving nature sets me apart.
If I ever saw another person wondering in the woods like I do, a girl, with her eyes up towards the treetops to catch sight of an elusive bird and her step slow, if I saw a girl like that, god, I think I’d stepped into a world of fiction where life-changing encounters happen right in the middle of the forest.
Okay, let’s not exaggerate, but it’d be very special.
Anyway, it’s not so important.
Imagination and spirit is what I want most. Another wild soul who’d go on a picnic with me on a starry and snowy winter night. And no, I don’t mean the people who’d find the thought charming and would gladly humour me. I mean those whose soul would be in it, too. It doesn’t have to be this idyllic or eccentric, of course. For the past few days I’ve had this image in my head, of lying in our respective beds with my friend on a sleepover, and laughing about lots of things. Laughing like you do when you are 7 or 10 or 14. To have that merriment to share with someone. But people, they want to do adult things, not laugh with me.