I am honestly scared of the future, since I'm pretty sure I'll either die before I'm 30, or my family will just pretend I don't exist. I already disappoint them enough as I am, I can't keep concentration and due to my anxiety, I can't even get a job to help support my family. I know I'm going to be alone all my life, not knowing basic things to live a proper life. I'm too scared to ask for help with anything, as all the times I did I got yelled at. During highschool, I just forced myself to stop crying, as I was judged with whatever I did.
I'm afraid I'm going to just become an addict and hurt someone, even though I've never had drugs before.
I'm dumb, and while I do want to cook for a living, I know I'll never be good enough.
I would like a family when I'm older, but with the way the world is now, I know it will be impossible to be happy. :'D
Sorry, pretty depressing.
Very relatable. My family is very patient with me, though, but that doesn't stop the itchy feeling that I'm fundamentally incapable of learning and am likely to end up as an addict. And the anxiety and lack of real world knowledge... its a hideous way to be.
That being said, I think it's definitely worthwhile to pursue a career in cooking and to generally disregard all of the "can'ts" and "not good enoughs" that are gonna come your way. Because if you listen to people and behave accordingly... you're never gonna do
anything. Live defiantly. Do what you want, even if you lag behind the others a little and whatever. Better late than never. Better having tried than having been too scared to.
And today's world is pretty shitty, but happiness isn't impossible! It's not a guarantee, sure. The only thing we're guaranteed is death, and you don't wanna die before giving everything a shot.
As for my own bit of confessions:
I'm feeling depressed for the first time in my life. I still smile and laugh and have fun, and I notice the beauty and stuff, but there's a void which stares into me whenever I'm not preoccupied. I feel kind of hopeless, and am on the edge of tears whenever I'm alone. I know there is hope. The pit of my gut knows it, but I'm just caught in an endless loop and it's sort of tearing at me. It's just a
smattering of depression, really. And I feel so disconnected from life. Like, if I was dead, there'd be no difference.
It also feels like I'm growing a cyst; a personality that is both separate and... not. I am not myself lately, that's for sure. The Real Me is lodged in the past, somewhere between watching GTA 4 and walking sulkily on a beach. I have no idea who this stranger in my head is.