Why hello there, blogging world friends!
(Yeah, I generally consider people friends even if I don't know them. Ironic, since I'm pretty much an introvert of introverts, but, hey, why not see friends in people? Nice to meet you, I like you already!).
Ahem. I can be a bit zany, at least inside my head. On the outside, I'm kind of a cross between an awkward turtle and a statue, depending on the situation.
As for why I started blogging, there are two reasons.
1). What do you do when there's statistical mechanics homework to be done, but you're too muddy-headed from a lingering flu to do it? Clearly, you start a blog, whilst smoke from your roommates' dinners fills your apartment. But, of course, because no smoke alarm goes off, you ignore it in favor of valiantly battling your internet connection to get every last template detail right. (As an aside, their dinners turned out good anyways. I think something was wrong with the stove).
2). The second reason is more serious, I suppose. I'm using this blog as a therapeutic, open journal of sorts, a place to bare my soul, and by baring my soul find my voice. I'd originally planned to be anonymous, because I'm, well, insecure and so scared of people. However, partially because I can't figure out how to manipulate my blog settings to anonymity, and partially because I know openness needs to happen in my life, I'm leaving my name up and I'll face what happens. Ideally, this practice of openness and voicing my thoughts will transfer into my life outside the Internet, too.
I'm scared, people. I love people, but I'm scared of you. In fact, my fear of people, of judgement, contributed to a bout of anxiety and severe depression that nearly killed me last semester. And right now I'm like: why am I admitting this, it's obvious I'm so terribly weak, craving your approval - because I do - and oh-my-gosh what would my family and friends think if (when?) they see this, my confessions, my wounds and my weapons.
But you know what? Maybe openness about my weaknesses is what I need. Because a weak person is no less a person than a strong person, so what's the point in a masquerade?
So here I am, antidepressants on my countertop and weekly therapist meetings on my calendar, humbled, learning, growing, stretching out and up. Like a flower, free from classification: an adelaster.