hermiting

Had a definitive depression recongnition moment earlier this week: I was listening to a song that I adore by a local musician whose show I attended back in June and found myself thinking ‘remember that, Mel? You had a great time that night. It’s been a while seen we’ve seen that girl.’

And it’s true. It’s not that I haven’t been socialising, I just haven’t been going out for my (usually) weekly steam-blowing sessions in which I generally talk to people outside my immediate circle of friends and listen to new music and remind myself that, hey girl, you ain’t so bad.

I’ve been in avoidance of it due to finances as well as avoidance of certain situations I knew I would run into that would act as triggers. So which is worse, right? Staying in and having too much time to lament the position or going out and risking a trigger. Fuck.

Trying to brush the dirt off my shoulders in either instance seems muddled and unclear. I find myself worried about things I never used to worry about.

What do I weeeeear? You guys, I love getting dressed up. Having a reason to wear things I can’t to most places.

Who will I talk to? My circles of friends tend to be about my age and either poor or in parent-mode. That only kinda sucks. I love going out by myself. I’m rarely lacking people to talk to and am quite comfy sitting at the bar with my thoughts or groovin’ on a dance floor by myself.

What if, what if, what if?

I never used to worry about what ifs. Now, I get anxious at all of them even though I know they’re unfounded.

It’s a strange feeling having to make all of these considerations for something as simple as going out and doing things you love. I’ll get there, though. I slowly am, bit by bit. I practice and do well for a while and hermit up again, but I keep feeling stronger each time.

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