I was surprised the other day. A friend of mine casually mentioned to me that they read my blog. This isn’t someone I had really expected to, but I suppose I don’t really expect anyone to. I started this as a means to work on my ability to express and process emotions, which is what I told this friend somewhat nervously in response.

There’s an unusual sense of vulnerability when you venture back to the days of MySpace and quasi-emo online journal writing and someone actually reads it. Mind you, I don’t feel that this blog is some attempt to be emo, and to anyone that does I’d assure them of the contrary.

But it did make me think.

My friend told me that they didn’t realize I was that deep. While I do consider myself something of an old soul, I think what I took away from the comment is an interesting thought on people as a whole.

We meet people in specific contexts. We meet only one facet of who they are. Everyone, to an extent, has a guard up. Only when those layers are peeled back do you really see into what makes them tick. My innermost thoughts and feelings may as well be locked away in a vault forever when it comes to talking to anyone directly, but in truth they’re only a GET request or two away.

Vulnerable.

But there’s something cathartic in this for me. I’ve been surprised and humbled at the times someone, even someone who I’ve never directly talked to before, reaches out to me unsolicited and says they read my writing and it resonated with them in some way. I’ve made a few friends like that.

I wonder if all of us are ‘deep’. Old souls with thoughts and emotions held within or suppressed in exchange for something more easily understood.

I don’t know. It was just an interesting revelation for me.

Another revelation I stumbled across in the past few days was after assessing how I’ve been feeling lately. It’s not something I openly advertise, but depression is something I’ve dealt with for pretty much my entire life. The best way I could think to describe it is imagine having someone standing behind you, making commentary on your every thought and action about how whatever you try will fail, or how no one likes you, or insert comment here about how much you suck or something like that. And they’re just there. Almost always.

You know what it is. You understand that it’s not ‘real’ and that you objectively have merits, but after a while it just wears you down. The mental energy spent telling that voice to shut up leaves you ill prepared for other unfortunate turns, so when that proverbial dam breaks the impact is all the more resonating.

It’s not particularly fun.

I think it’s what makes me such an introspective person. I contend with thoughts like these, reason my way around them, and it forces me to really process myself and the world around in a way other people probably don’t have to. In that, I’m almost thankful because I don’t think I’d be the person I am today without having to work through that so often.

But anyway. If someone was asking me how I was feeling right now, I’d say I was inconclusive. Perspective depending, things are really great for me right now or subjectively unfortunate. And with a second opinion like depression constantly wanting to throw its two cents in finding an objective viewpoint can be difficult.

I wouldn’t say I was happy, or sad. And yet I’m not indifferent or void emotion either. My mind’s gone in a circle of logic that’s kinda lead me to a place where I am ultimately thankful, if a bit lost.

There’s a good chance I’m not explaining any of this well, and that’s the other point of this blog. If I can build up experience in talking about my feelings through this, then I only stand to become better at it down the line somewhere.

There’s a frustrating sense of separation when you have feelings and thoughts in your head, but you find yourself unable to really express them. It’s like trying to communicate to someone in a different language. It can be alienating, and it leaves you with a sense of loneliness.

Social interaction, feelings, and depression will likely always be things I struggle with in some capacity. And I’m okay with that. But I’m committed to continuing to try, in spite of whatever rejection or road blocks I run into. Or the mistakes I make, which I’m sure my depression will have a thing or two to say about.

I’d go into how my depression’s turned me into a perfectionist, but this would be much longer than the novella it is. Maybe another time.