Thinkin' Out Loud, As Always

TRIGGER WARNING.

This is gonna be a weird post. I keep trying to include all aspects of the blog into the posts I write, so some of them might not focus on sex at all. No worries. In my opinion, good mental health is the key to good sex. But whatever.

This is more of like a diary entry, though. I had a revelation not long ago, about the correlation between my love of the horror genre and my anxiety and depression issues. It's a weird and winding kind of thought process, so bear with me. I know I'm relating to at least one person, who I won't name, but I'm guessing that it's a thing and that makes me feel not so alone and strange.

So, I love horror. I think it's a wonderful genre. So easy to be bad, but when it's good it's SO good. I prefer thriller to anything else, partially because of a point I'll make later on. And it's creepier and more believably scary. And I've been scared of monsters and all that jazz for years. I don't remember what my first horror movie was that I saw, but I remember being scared of it for years.

Comparably, I don't remember when I started having things that I could file under "Anxiety" or "Depression". They weren't movies I could watch and replay, but looking back on them that's exactly what they were. Like watching a movie a hundred times.

When I'm the happiest, more things seem to scare me. And it's because I create almost tangible representations of my anxiety. It's much easier to feel fear than it is to understand my own brain sometimes. It's easier to say that there's a monster under the bed, than one in my head.

It's like, when I'm upset, nothing scares me. Like those memes you see: "*hears a creak when home alone* This is fine, I'm dead inside anyway" kind of deal. But when I'm in a better mind state, every little thing scares me. I figured it out, though.

It's like my anxiety creates a scapegoat for itself. It's easier to be afraid of something that I know will definitely not hurt me, rather than something that might. I don't know what my anxiety could drive me to do. But Samara climbing out of the woods, or like a creepy demon from something running down the street? Probably not, to be QUITE honest.

I know this is a weird concept to grasp. But imagine, if you will, it being a metaphor. Freddy stands for the bullshit, but as long as he's not in my dreams, it's kind of okay, right? I can figure it out on the outside. I can figure it out if he's in front of me. But in my head, I have no idea what's going on.

The human brain is so amazing. It does everything in such an insane way, I have no idea how. It finds the best ways to have to do the worst things. Anxiety and depression are some of the WORST things to have to deal with. But we can do this, dude. Like, we GOT this.