A lot of people are excited by the prospect that almost anything can happen. This thought makes me reach for the nearest blanket and climb under it.

I think almost my whole life I have been varying degrees of frightened, terrified, frustrated, and paralysed by life itself. I spend a lot of the time dreaming the day away on things that will probably never happen and some things that have a possibility of happening, but at the slightest notion that they will, I get the sudden urge to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. Because I’m sure the reality is very different from the picture in my head. And obviously in my head I must be a completely different person, someone who doesn’t get scared.

It’s hard to differentiate among anxiety that is perfectly normal for a human being, anxiety that is a personality trait, and anxiety as a reflection of whatever situation I am in. Am I socially anxious naturally or because I have been more isolated ever since I stopped going to school? How much do I have to fight it and how much do I accept it? Can it ever really fundamentally change?

I’m writing this on Saturday, and today is one of those days when all my limitations and restrictions float to the surface and are hard to squeeze past. These are things I have built up over the past few years to deal with other difficult things. It is a vicious circle. It’s embarrassing and I don’t want to be specific because, to be perfectly honest, I am ashamed.

But I don’t mind being brutally honest about this fact: because of my fears and anxieties, my life is very restricted. I can’t go to school or parties or on independent excursions or take driving lessons, etc. Most of the time I just dream about having a fulfilled life, full of “normal” things. The rest of the time I dream up fantastical situations just to forget the banal situation I am in. Sometimes I am very happy with what I’ve got—last week was a good example of that. This week, I just wish I could expand my sphere, for my limits to be nonexistent. It makes me incredibly sad that in a world full of potentially beautiful experiences, my instinct is to hide and stick to my imagination.

Here is a photo of my cat, Freddie, to keep me optimistic: