Don’t Be Sad on the Internet

Every time I sit down to write I become paralyzed. 

My brain gets clouded. My heartbeat fills my ears. My hands shake. 

I worry that in the year I spent writing awkward, overly-formal “copy”, I lost the ability to write anything that connects with people. 

I’m supposed to be funny. 

I turn anxiety into comfort and a few knowing laughs for people. If I can’t find joy in the wreckage, what’s the point? 

The warm, sunny weather makes it worse. It feels like a personal affront.

I can’t even go outside, because the light-hearted conversations I used to have with neighbours have turned into word vomit about financial stress. 

I don’t want to have to face them again.

I can’t get their reactions out of my head.

I clearly make people uncomfortable. No one wants to feel guilty about being in a better place when the world is melting. I know I didn’t when I was still employed. 

And because it’s human nature to shut out anything that makes us feel icky, I worry that if I keep writing this blog in an honest way — something I started so we could all feel less alone in our issues — it will prevent me from finding another job. 

It doesn’t matter how good my intentions are, how smart I am, how hard I work, or that I come up with damn good creative ideas. It matters that when you google my name, I was sad on the internet, and hiring managers don’t trust sad people. 

But there are no jobs, so here you go. 

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