Kinda Having Some Hard Time Making Friends. Have Been Talking To My Family Since Lockdown And I Never

Saw you in my dreams.

I was wondering maybe...

Depression is an odd thing. It doesn’t always stem from a single reason, and it’s not something I can just “snap out of.” There’s a common misconception that people are depressed because they’re constantly sad, but that’s not always the case. For me, it feels like a heavy weight that sits on my chest, something that zaps my energy, motivation, and joy—even on days when everything is going okay.

Some days, it’s the little things that pile up: unanswered emails, personal doubts, the pressure of being a parent—especially to a son with autism—and the overwhelming sense that I’m just not doing enough. Other times, it’s bigger, unresolved issues, like dealing with loss, past traumas, or feeling like I’m constantly underperforming in areas of my life, despite my best efforts.

Living with depression also makes relationships tricky. I often feel disconnected from people, even those I love. Sometimes, I withdraw, not because I don’t care but because I just don’t have the energy to keep up. Other times, I overcompensate, trying too hard to be present, only to feel drained afterward.

As a single mother, I’m responsible for more than just myself, and that pressure can be overwhelming. While I love my son deeply, managing life on my own sometimes feels like walking uphill with weights tied to my legs. It’s not about him—it’s about the relentless pressure of trying to be everything for everyone while still battling my own inner demons.

I go to therapy because I know I need help unraveling everything that’s been tangled up inside for years. There are days when I feel a glimmer of hope, when I feel like maybe things are turning around. But there are also days when I just need to ride out the storm, trusting that even though it feels endless, it will eventually pass.

So if I seem distant, tired, or not like myself, it’s not that I’m avoiding anyone. It’s just that I’m doing my best to survive the battle that’s happening inside my own head.

This isn't because of insomnia, it's the trauma.

Diary entry: October 15, 2024

I woke up from a wild dream. You know how dreams work—one moment you're in a familiar place, the next everything shifts. You look behind you, and the scenery changes. You turn to the front, and you're somewhere else entirely. People you know appear alongside strangers who only exist in your dreams. Some places feel real, while others exist only in that dreamscape. It’s surreal.

What really gets to me are the recurring dreams. Sometimes, after months or years of not thinking about a certain place or person, they reappear, unchanged, like no time has passed. But the scariest part? I occasionally dream of things that haven't happened yet—and then they come true the next day. I see signs, premonitions, and when they unfold in real life, it sends chills down my spine.

My mother has this gift of premonition too. For her, it’s a guide—a way to navigate life. I seem to have inherited it, but instead of comfort, it terrifies me. People call it a gift, but I'm not so sure. There are moments when I want to lean on science, to find logical explanations for what I experience. Science can demystify things like this, offering clarity. But then, there are times when I feel pulled toward something deeper—something divine. It’s a strange place to be, caught between wanting to explain everything and accepting that maybe some things are beyond explanation.

So, about that dream—all of a sudden, a familiar face showed up randomly. It was him. He just appeared, casually talking to me, like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t hurt me in the past. It completely caught me off guard. I’ve moved on, though. We never officially dated, just talked and got to know each other—until the next morning, he pulled the plug because he was pissed. And there he was in my dream, acting as if everything was fine, asking how I was, like we were friends.

You know me—I’m confrontational. In the dream, I was just about to tell him to fuck off, but right then, my alarm went off, jolting me awake.

Groggy, I reached for my phone, turned off the alarm, and checked my notifications. And there it was—his name, lighting up my screen. A message from him on Telegram.

I couldn’t believe it.

Though it's not the first time it happened to me but sometimes I couldn't help but wonder—

What kind of fuckery is this?

I just have to pull some strings here and plan ahead. I should have a better plan for 2022. Two plans. Just in case the first one fails.

April 3, 2024

Day 1:

How do you define grief? It's like trying to capture the essence of a storm in a single drop of rain. A tempest that rages within, tearing apart the very fabric of your being. Today, I find myself grappling with this question as I navigate through the murky waters of loss.

Breaking the news to loved ones is an ordeal in itself. Each word feels like a boulder weighing down on my chest, each breath ragged and heavy with sorrow. How do you convey the enormity of loss without drowning in your own tears?

Maybe I wasn’t praying hard enough. Maybe He has another plan— a beautiful one. But God, that was so painful. I don’t have anyone to talk to, and no one takes me seriously. Maybe it’s because I always laugh at tragedy, having grown so used to it.

"The two most powerful warriors are patience and time." - Leo Tolstoy