Can’t seem to shake the fear of uselessness.

My entire life, I’ve always felt like I was falling behind everyone else. Since I was a kid I was always intimidated by others my age and clung to authoritative figures because they were less judgmental [thereby they’d just felt safer to be around.] When I did have to interact with other kids, I often got my feelings hurt and it wasn’t uncommon for me to go home in tears. I was raised by a very impatient single mother who rarely expressed any support in the things I was good at. My escape was largely just my staying in the house drawing, writing and reading constantly.

My seclusion carried on through high school where I was often bullied, and in college where I still had very little social skills / was almost always alone. On top of this, I wasn’t a good student aside from subjects I had a real interest in such as English, Creative Writing and Philosophy. I never graduated.

Now, as an adult, I cry a lot less lol but a lot of the feelings have remained the same. My sadness has progressed to anger when triggered, however it’s anger that I often only express to those close to me. I’m historically well-liked by many I meet and considered highly personable in my current age. Yet underneath it I have very few people I call friends with just as few acquaintances. Not only that but I have a huge disposition towards getting involved with almost anyone more personally. I know this is because of how I grew up. It often feels as though other people never had to know what it was like to feel as isolated and question their purpose in society as I did [and still do,] so I simply wouldn’t be able to relate to them no matter how hard I tried. I’ve always been an alien who even the nicest of people seemed to just look at as someone they need to help ‘fix’ rather than someone they can understand. Why should the present be any different?

With everything I do, everywhere I go, and everyone I meet, I carry this feeling with me. I never feel as though I have as much of a reason to be here as anyone else. I never DON’T feel like a problem child. And yes, I’m sick of being depressed — who wouldn’t be? But I’m even more sick of feeling seen as a pariah BECAUSE I’m depressed, by those who can proudly acknowledge they aren’t as messed up as me.