I’m different. I know I am. I stare blankly and smile automatically when people talk to me. My mind is just gone. Most of the time I feel blank. I feel hollow. What are my interests? What do I enjoy? What are my goals? Is it normal to have none. I mean sure there’s writing. I like writing. I like writing to you. I like thinking someone is reading this. Do you understand? Are you like me? Lost. But, no not lost, just fading. I don’t smile much other than to seem like I’m paying attention. When I think about it, there’s only one thing I really want. I’d love to work from home with my own blogging/photography business. I like the idea of working from home. I have become unable to function with my anxiety. I cannot relate to people. My dream is to work from home with my own business with a dog curled up at my feet. I am a recluse being forced to become a social butterfly for a job. This happens every time. I can’t seem to keep a job because of the anxiety and depression. I feel like it is written on my face. The exhaustion. The tears that are about to fall. I fought through so much thinking I’d be happy one day. That it would be worth it. Bullying in College, depression, being hospitalized for my anxiety, weight gain. I fought against it thinking I’d come out on top. That I could some day vanquish the pain. But, I can’t. And I can’t hide that no matter what I do. I’m miserable in a work environment, social environment. I try. I have tried to suck it up. Be a big girl. But, that fight isn’t in me. This is a war I don’t want to win because what am I gaining if I do. A career I don’t want, A lifetime of people pleasing? I’ve done so much worrying. Crying myself to sleep hoping that something will fall out of the sky and save me. Maybe it’s right here. This writing I do when no one is around. When I find a few private moments at work or at home. Some things make me happy. Like the concept that someone like me could run a business from home with a dog at my feet. Maybe there’s a reason why I don’t belong. I just don’t. Plain and simple. I can’t keep listening to the people that voice every thought they have. The people that no matter how hard I try, just never make sense to me. There’s something about being this lonely. About feeling like an outsider looking in at humanity. Maybe working from home isn’t crazy. I have mental breakdowns in the bathroom, and cry everyday before I leave, and I drink every night because I can’t handle it. I’m admitting I am not mentally capable of dealing with human beings at this level. I cry constantly. I am becoming numb. I can’t not feel shocked at how truly isolated I feel. Is this a writer, INFJ, introverted, issue? Can anyone tell me if they feel the same. That if they have to speak one more time today that they might just crack?