A Genuine Insight Into This Dreamer’s Existence

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It’s exactly 10:39 at night, and I am sitting in my room, alone, typing on my laptop. I just got back from an evening with church friends, and, while I didn’t know quite a few of them, I did end up having a nice time, playing board games and eating food. I didn’t feel like I quite fit in with any of them. As someone who is going through a particularly miserable patch of their life, surrounded by happy people, with jobs and happy lives, I couldn’t feeling, internally, as though I was sticking out like a sore thumb.

I wonder what it would be like if you met me in real life. I started thinking about this, ever since I started an Instagram account and became active on Twitter again. You can follow me on Instagram HERE, and on Twitter HERE. I mean, I’m a very introverted sort of person, very internal, all of my thoughts and feelings are wrapped up inside my brain, instead of expressed outwardly. Perhaps, in real life, I might come across as odd or strange, or quite average, the kind of person that blends, unnoticeable, in with the crowd. Inside, however, there is quite a different story: inside, within me, I am a hurricane of feeling, of misery and poetry, stardust and sunkisses.

Disappointment forms the focus of my life right now. I am utterly disappointed that none of my books have become published. In fact, disappointment isn’t even a strong enough word for it. I feel as though I am dragging with misery with every step I take, leaving behind sludgy, footprints of sadness on the ground behind me. My entire body sags. Not being published is like not being able to breathe. I feel as though I was never born, and never lived. My entire life is not just missing a single jigsaw piece: all the jigsaw pieces have been scattered into the wilderness, never to be see again.

I am exhausted, but I must keep writing, for that is the only thing that is keeping me sane at the moment. I was made for nothing else other than this dream of writing. I know nothing else, and exist nowhere else. Whatever I do for the rest of my life, be it childcare, or teaching, or whatever it is, I just know that it will all pale in comparison to the prospect of getting published, of seeing my book on shelves, of holding my book in my hands. I can barely breathe from the misery of it.

Perhaps I come across as too dramatic. After all, there are many other avenues which you can take to publish your book, such as self-publishing, or distributing books for a price in public. Other ways. But I don’t want the other ways. I want the official path, the one and only. If I could just thrust my book beneath the noses of my readers, and let them see the pure artistry and magic written across their pages—if I could just make one publisher see inside my mind when I write my books—

But it’s all for naught. Lately, I have decided to Instagram and Tweet as often as possible. I don’t know why exactly I’m doing it. I suppose, I want to be of more help to others in this world. I think, if I write a tweet about my misery, and someone else in the world somewhere reads it, then they might feel comforted. If they see a photograph of my laptop, or my doorknob, with a certain caption, they might feel less alone, less—-something. Less afraid. I don’t know. I want to provide comfort to people, in this often dark and lonely world. If I can do that with my life, then I think I can die happily, if not satisfactorily.

And that’s the thing. Oh my, a headache is beginning to build. I better stop writing soon. If I die without ever getting properly published, officially published—why, I think I might actually die with a tear trickling down my face. Eventually, I will self-publish, if this thing never works out, and advertise my book on this blog. I’ll sell the books for only a couple of dollars, because I know some of my readers are struggling financially, too, just like me. And perhaps people will respond, and tell me how much they like the books—and that, I think, will have to be enough. I can’t see anything more than that happening.

It’s quiet. It’s night. 16 minutes have passed. I have written around 800 words. Outside, cars are passing by on the street, making soft swooshing sounds. I am currently reading a book called Shopaholic Ties the Knot. The woman who writes this book is very blessed. I do not hate her; my heart does not hold such vindictiveness. Instead, I stare at her books with a gentle wistfulness, with a tinge of envy; she is married, with beautiful children, and has a long and steady publishing career. Her life is everything I have ever wished for for myself. Meanwhile, the days pass in a steady blur, of boredom and stress, job searching and interviews. I don’t know where I am going, and life is turning into a dull ache of pain. It isn’t excruciating: it’s just always there, pulsing, against me, against every part of me.

I reach out to God. I do. I reach out to Him. And tonight, I will go to sleep, thinking of nothing because there is nothing to think, my heart empty of dreams because it isn’t shattered or broken, it no longer exists, and I wade, sobbing quietly, into a future where I don’t belong.

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Twitter and Instagram

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I thought it’d be fun to reignite my Twitter account, and create an Instagram account.

While I can’t promise I’ll be extremely active on either of my accounts, I will try my best to post something new everyday. However, I don’t think I’ll be doing a face reveal anytime soon, simply because I am painfully shy and there are people I know in real life who I wouldn’t want knowing about this blog, because this blog is almost like my personal diary. Everything post I write on this blog is rather like a dairy entry, a private one anyone on the internet can see, so the last vestige of anonymity I have is my own personal appearance.

Instead, I will be posting whatever thoughts crop up in my mind throughout the day on Twitter, and posting pictures of my everyday surroundings on my Instagram account. I have already posted on picture on my Instagram account, and that is a photograph of my laptop, where I do all of my blogging!

Here’s to a glimpse into my mind and thoughts, and my everyday life. Enjoy!

Twitter: https://twitter.com/dreamerrambling  or click HERE

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dreamerrambling  or click HERE

My self-published short story “Zodiac”

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Aries was a constellation in the form of a ram, that stood on his hind legs. He was alive. He moved from place to place, shimmering gently, his aura a dark blue, and threaded with tiny lights like stars.
One day, he woke up and found that the sun in the sky had grown to tremendous proportions. The sun was the closest star to them in this part of the galaxy, Zorgia, where they lived. It blazed, a beacon of light. He was curious. He wondered why this had happened. So he went to the bull constellation for help, to ask him what was going on. The bull constellation’s name was Taurus, and he lived to the east of the galaxy. Like him, he had a blue aura, like deep, bluish light, and he had tiny lights threaded throughout his body, with several of them forming his horns.
“You want to know why that star has grown so big?” The bull constellation, Taurus, sighed. “It is reaching the end of its life. Leave it be, little Aries.”
Aries, however, was not satisfied with this answer. He went over to Gemini, a pair of twin constellations, one a boy and the other a girl. They were floating, up near the highest part of the starlight city they called Zorgia, and twirling around and around, whispering things to one another.
“Do you know why the sun has become so large?” he asked. “Taurus says it is because the sun is dying.” He looked down at his hoofs; they were a see-through blue, and glimmered with tiny spots of light. “Do you that think is true?”
The Gemini twins nodded. “We do, little Aries, we do.” They smiled and floated around their dress, and shirt and pants, flowing around their bodies, like silk through water. “The sun is going to die, it is, it is.” In unison, just like the way they spoke, the two twins jumped over a bank of starlight, and vanished from sight.
Puzzled, Aries decided to seek out the wise Cancer, a crab that floated in the starlit waters of the seas of their galaxy. As he came up to the crab, treading light over the sea’s starry banks, with a gurgle of interstellar bubbles the crab surfaced, a great, bold, blue thing, with pincers that glimmered, and stalks for eyes. He was a galactic creature of few words. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t a very clever constellation—he just liked to measure out his words carefully, to think and ponder before speaking his mind.
Still, Aries, young and impatient, found it rather difficult to wait. He asked the great crab his question, and the crab stood still, in the water, for several heartbeats. Then he pinched him, gently, on the arm, with the tip of his left pincer. “My dear little one, one day, I will become like that star. Ten thousand trillion years from now. Do you see?”
Aries did not see. In fact, he was beginning to think Cancer had spent too much time in his sea of starwater, and his mind had become waterlogged, living amongst the bubbles and other galactic star sea-creatures. So he bid him a polite farewell, and said, “I hope you do not drink too much starwater anymore.”
It was a rude thing to say, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t as if Cancer didn’t know the kind of constellation he was; brash and unthinking, young and inexperienced. He would forgive him, he hoped. Now. Who else was there to ask?
He made a brief stop at Leo’s home, a wide land of endless starry dirt, with plenty of stars—small ones, only of course, for him to eat. He was a constellation Aries had always felt rather shy about talking to.
As usual, the great lion constellation was busy eating stars, batting at them playfully in the air, as they twinkled and sparkled, before swallowing them whole. They travelled down his throat, down into his belly, where they glimmered and glowed, joining the fabric of his being.
Aries, who kept stars as pets, tried not to look too upset, as he asked the mighty lion constellation, “Why is the star up there,” he pointed to it, “so big?” The lion constellation thought for a moment. Then he opened his great mouth, and replied, “That is because it is now becoming the mightiest star it can be of all, just for a short period of time.”
“And after?” asked Aries, hoping he would say it would continue to be mighty and strong.
“After it will die, and no longer be great and mighty.”
Distraught, Aries gave his thanks and quickly left the starry land, in search of someone less brutal, more patient and understanding. It was then, as he was flying along through the air, that he bumped into Virgo, a beautiful constellation, in the shape of a human woman.
She was calm, attentive, and rather quiet, but Aries had always rather liked her. “Aries, what brings you to this corner of the galaxy?” The stars inside Virgo’s body, tiny lights, flickered and glowed. Aries tried his best to sound calm, too, but he failed. “The sun—my favourite star—has been growing bigger and bigger, and everyone says it’s going to die soon. Please tell me that isn’t true.”
Virgo thought about this for a moment; then she said, gently, “No. It’s not true. It won’t really die. It’ll just be—different. Transformed. Bits of it will fly outwards, at incredible speeds, and make up other parts of the galaxy. It won’t die, exactly—it’ll just be turned into something else.”
Aries blinked. This was worse than he had thought! If it died, at the very least things would be over and done with, but if bits of it were everywhere, he would never be able to forget about her dear star, and its shining, awe-inspiring brilliance. Quickly, he flew away, leaving behind a befuddled Virgo, who wondered, and hoped, desperately, that what she said had been the right thing to say.
No. It was time to move onto drastic measures. Libra—well, she was just a set of scales, bluish and translucent, stitched with tiny pinpoints of starlight. She didn’t talk, or speak; instead, using her weighing platforms, she answered yes or no questions: right weighing platform for yes, left one for no, dipping the weighing platforms downwards on either side of her body.
Aries approached Libra, cautiously: in the past, Libra had been known to get startled if you moved too close, too quickly, and refused to answer your questions. “Is that star up there really going to die?” he asked. “Yes,” said the tilt of Libra’s scales. Aries was greatly saddened. “Will it die very soon?” “Yes,” came the answer again.
Disappointed, Aries felt resigned, and was leaving Libra when he came across Capricorn, tussling with Sagittarius. The two constellations were joined together in a headlock, Sagittarius’s human arms wrapped around Capricorn’s great head, and Capricorn’s horns curved around Sagittarius’s head.
But when they saw Aries passing by, looking so sad, they quickly broke out of the headlock and came over to him. “Aries?” asked Capricorn, licking his injured hoof. “What’s wrong?” “Oh,” said Aries, close to tears. “Nothing, really. It’s just that a favourite star of mine, the sun, is about to die.” He pointed up at it, with one elegant hoof, and the two others, Capricorn and Sagittarius, followed where he was pointing with their eyes, and, slowly, nodding, they understood his predicament. Sagittarius licked his lips. Both he and Capricorn had lived long enough in this universe to know when a star was dying, but they didn’t know, despite their wisdom, how to break the news gently to a creature as sensitive as Aries.
Capricorn cleared his throat. “No, er, that star is not dying.” He shot a warning look at Sagittarius, who was beginning to frown. “No. It’s just—putting on a show. Yes.”
Arie’s face lit up. “Really? You’re not lying to me?” “Of course not,” said Capricorn, nudging Sagittarius in the ribs. “Why would we ever do such a thing?”
Heartened by this, Aries went on his way. After a while, however, his thoughts grew dark again, and he thought it might be best to get a second opinion. So he went over to where Aquarius lived, a huge chamber of watery starlight, on the north coast of the galaxy. She was busily churning the starry waters with her jug, tossing the waters this way and that, so that it shone and gleamed.
Aries went over to the older constellation, and asked,” Is that star up there dying or putting on a show?” Aquarius didn’t say anything. She could be quite preoccupied at times. But, finally, after a last sweep of the waters with her urn, she said, “Hello, little Aries. You look very tired. Why does the fate of this star matter to you so? It is only a dying star, after all.”
At this, Aries burst into tears. Aquarius was discomfited. She didn’t like seeing Aries cry. No-one did. So she thought of the only thing she could say, and said it, even if it wasn’t completely the truth. “The star is moving on. It’ll go to a different place. A better place.”
Aries blinked. “Really? After it—dies?” “Yes,” said Aquarius, nodding sagely. ‘That is exactly what will happen. A place stars go after they die. A safe place.”
“But—but I don’t want it to go to this other place!” He didn’t even say good-bye; poor little Aries fled from the distraught Aquarius.
He was walking so fast, on his hind legs, he didn’t even realise he had waded into a great, starry pond. He stood on the edge of it, the water up to his ankles, crying.
Up from the waters appeared Pisces, two fish who always travelled together. Like all constellations, they were translucent and dark blue, their scales knitted of stars. They gazed up at Aries, with their orb-like eyes, and said nothing. High up in the higher reaches of the galaxy, something was happening. Aries, standing in the water, kept on sobbing, oblivious to what was going on. “Watch,” gurgled Pisces.
Abruptly, Aries stopped crying, and looked, lifting his head upwards. High up in the galaxy, amongst the stars, the greatest star of all, known as the sun, was beginning to grow larger. In fact, it seemed to be inflating before their very eyes; and before long, it was the size of an enormous ball, hanging there in the starry heavens.
Aries stared, in absolute awe, his jaw gone slack. He was just thinking about whether or not he should run away, before it burst and exploded, but to her surprise, the explosion was very slow, and magnificent. Starry dust rained down on the galaxy of Zorgia, as the star burst apart into thousands of pieces of star matter, whirling away into the rest of the galaxy.
It was the most beautiful thing Aries had ever seen. Maybe dying wasn’t so frightening, after all. And what was more, after the star fragments blew away, what was left was the core, a tiny, soft, glowing pinpoint of light, rather like an echo of what the great star had been.
“See?” said Pisces, as they stared up at it together. “It’s not so bad now, is it?” “No,” said Aries, staring up at the star’s core, which flickered faintly. “Not at all.”

12 Life Tips For INFPs

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This post is courtesy of Louis, who wanted to read a blog post about INFP life stuff and tips. Thank you, Louis, for your suggestion, and if you would like to donate to my Patreon page, you can find it here, at http://www.patreon.com/dreamerrambling

Onto the blog post. Here is a list of 12 life tips for INFPs. While I have written quite a few lists over the years, I don’t think I’ve written one exclusively on tips for INFPs. So, here we go.

1. Carry a book around with you wherever you.

Not only is this a good idea for the average person, for an INFP, it is a must, as it means you can dive into a fantasy world wherever you go. Sounds pretty good to me.

2. Carry some lollies with you wherever you go.

Hear me out on this one. INFPs go through a lot of stress in life, whether it be a job interview or having to make an important, nerve-wracking call, and sometimes, after feeling so frazzled, you feel the need to give yourself a treat. This is where the lollies come in. Don’t chow down the whole bag—just give yourself one, because, as an INFP, you deserve it. It can be whatever kind of food you enjoy most, in an easy, accessible bag: chips, sweets, any sort of candy, you name it.

3. Try to reduce your daydreaming.

Now, I know this is a hard one, but I’ve found that it is better to daydream less about what your life could be like and spend more time in your actual life. Otherwise, you will miss most of your life as it reels past you, and, what’s more, most of the daydreams never come true—a handsome prince, riding out of the sunset, anyone?—so following this tip prevents you from suffering any disappointment.

4. Push yourself to go beyond your boundaries.

If it were up to us, we’d just spend our days at home all day long, indulging in our creative pursuits and films, movies and books. But that’s not how the real world works, and in this world, one has to work, to socialise, and put food on the table. Pushing yourself to do things, such as going shopping, or going for that job interview, will not only make you feel happier with life overall, because you feel more confident and able, but it’s a very good INFP habit to practise, as it means you will not stagnate.

5. Try to date.

Nerve-wracking as it is, INFPs are the type to yearn for a partner, so it is a good thing to go out there and join the dating scene. Whenever we are alone, or single, no matter how good the rest of our life is, some part of us feels a little lost and miserable. All of us need that one, special person in lives, and INFPs do more so than others sometimes—someone who can understand us, who wants to peel away the layers of our guarded personalities to the true treasure underneath. So, give it a try—what can you lose? My advice with dating, though, is to take it slow, be safe and never jump into things if you have a bad feeling about them. If you’re dating online, always make sure to meet in a public space.

6. Try to reduce the amount of public transport you take.

Sometimes, this isn’t possible, especially if you live far from your workplace, but it is a good idea to take less public transport, as it is something that can drain INFPs. The crammed carriages of a train, the busy commute—all of that isn’t conducive to an INFP’s happiness. So, try to walk, or even ride a bike; it’ll take a lot of the stress and anxiety that comes with commuting, and the close proximity with strangers, away.

7. Never be afraid to leave a bad situation.

This can be harder than it sounds, especially if the bad situation is a job, which you do not like. But I’m not just talking about a job you do not like here—I’m talking about a toxic situation, so, if it were a job, it would be one where you not only not like the work, but you are bullied and belittled every single day. Bad situations are absolutely psychologically soul-destroying for INFPs, and can take ages for us to recover from them, whether it be a situation where you are being bullied, or a job you loathe so much just the thought of going to work for another day makes you want to melt into a puddle of despair on the floor and never get up. Whenever a situation makes you feel like that, you know it’s time to leave it.

8. Reach out to other INFPs.

Whether in real life, or through the internet (actually, through the internet is more likely), it’s always a good idea to find other like-minded people, so if you can somehow communicate with INFPs, such as in a forum or through an email correspondence, you can find it does wonders for your mental health. As INFPs, we can understand each other on a level sometimes other people can’t, and relate to each other, help each other, and give personalised advice that can strike us to the core.

9. Depression is often common amongst INFPs, and that’s because we have a habit of mulling over things too much.

We get inside our heads, and never come out of them. One of the best ways to beat depression is to keep yourself busy, whether that’s with work, or job searching, or interviews, or friends and family, creative pursuits, etc. An INFP that has nothing to do is more likely to get depressed.

10. Have a safe haven.

This almost goes without saying, but every INFP needs their own bedroom, or couch, or a special place where they can relax and unwind. We need this because we often find our jobs and the outside world quite stressful. In fact, scratch that: the outside world and our jobs, since they are both stimulating, is extremely stressful, and if we didn’t have our own room to go back to at the end of the day, to recharge and rejuvenate, we would go mad. So, a safe haven is a must.

11. Try to be involved in your creative pursuits on a daily basis.

Sometimes, INFPs, especially if they don’t work in a creative job, neglect the creative side of themselves, and this can be a big mistake. Creativity is a natural aspect of our personality type, and when we are allowed to flourish creatively, we feel more whole as a person. Whether it’s writing, dancing, singing, drawing, painting, or even just doodling, try to incorporate it as part of your daily routine, so you always have a creative outlet.

12. Make friends who do not drain you.

You know very well the type of people who drain your energy instead of give it. They are loud, boisterous, and all they do, taking advantage of your kind, giving and calm nature, is offload all their problems onto you, or jabber about themselves all day long. Let go of these people, and make friends who are a little more staid, who listen to and care about you, and provide a kind of haven from the rest of the world instead of someone that buffets the storm that is life even further.

Look out for a Part 2!

INFPs Are Not Suited To The Modern Workforce

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Before I begin, I would like to give a shout-out to Louis, for donating to my Patreon page. Thank you very much! Please a topic you’d like me to blog about, Louis, if you want to, to dreamerrambling@hotmail.com. And for those of you who want to, you can donate at my Patreon page http://www.patreon.com/dreamerrambling.

Now, let’s get started with today’s blog post. What has been happening? I’ll tell you what. A big, fat nothing. Isn’t marvellous, when nothing particularly remarkable or special happens in your life? I mean, that’s just what I wished for, ever since I was a little kid, for nothing to happen. In fact, I’m sure I remember wishing for that to happen when I was five years old—I’m almost certain for nothing to happen has been lifelong goal, and now, guess what, I have finally achieved it.

Sarcasm aside, I spent a good hour or so once I got home today, after visiting a newsletter group and my job agency, trying to figure out if I would make a good medical transcriptionist. And the answer, my friends, is a resounding no. While I do have a typing speed of 65 words a minute if I concentrate especially hard, if I want to write accurately and correctly, my typing speed is much less than that. What is more, whenever I try to listen to audio recordings of people’s voices, like that of a doctor’s, I can never quite make out a couple of words, which makes writing the transcription nearly impossible. So, no to transcription, my friends. Another day, another job ticked off the list.

As for childcare, well, I signed up for a traineeship, but I don’t think I’m going to get it. On the medical form part of it, I excluded mentioning any mental illness, for fear I would be discriminated against, but, on second thoughts, I wonder if that was a bad idea, because both of my references, a TAFE teacher and my job agency coordinator, know about my mental illness. Either way, it’s one way to pass the time, going to interviews for jobs I have no interest in, isn’t it? This is exactly what I mean by nothing has been particularly happening. Job interviews aren’t interesting enough to mention in a blog post, are they?

Well, let’s just say, I get nervous during job interviews (okay, maybe job interviews are worth mentioning). Extremely nervous. Perhaps not nervous enough to be classified as having some kind of anxiety disorder, but, well, I get pretty frazzled: my hands get sweaty, my heart starts to pound, my mind works at a hundred miles a minute, trying to predict interview questions beforehand, even though that technique never works because they usually go flying out of my head the moment I step inside the interview building. As an INFP, while I believe job interviews are important for life, I don’t think they’re something I’ll ever get used to. In fact, they are something I dread, with the kind of chest-clutching panic most people reserve for speeches and spiders. I would nearly rather give a speech, to a crowd of people, than have a job interview. Nearly.

Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of books my Sophie Kinsella. She’s this marvellously funny author, who writes irreverent, beautiful material on marriage and divorce and being a “shopaholic”; her work is fantastic, and I genuinely recommend you check her work out. Her book, Confessions of A Shopaholic, was even turned into a major Hollywood blockbuster movie. Okay, I guess you can tell I’m definitely running out of things to say, if I’m even mentioning what kind of books I’m reading at the moment.

Like I said, nothing in particular has been happening lately. Not particularly happy, but not particularly depressed, either. Everything seems to be going along in a straight line, a very straight, single line. I don’t like it. In fact, now that we’re on the subject of things INFPs don’t like, I would just like to point out that I am of the adamant belief that INFPs, if we’re being honest here, especially if they have anxiety and are daydreaming, soft, sweet little creatures, aren’t very suited to the workforce at all. I don’t like the idea of working in a stressful job, and every job, at the end of the day, has its own measure of stress. I think it’s because INFPs react so badly to stress in the first place. I mean, we’re not exactly Zen about it, are we? On the inside, we panic as though we are dying, and try to hold it all in, only to burst into tears at the end of the day. There isn’t a single job out there that doesn’t feel as though it is made for grown-ups—that is, other people—rather than INFPs. We’re not mature, in the sense that you need to have this sort of official, self-comforting personality to operate in society, and we don’t have any of the skills that are required for most jobs, such as high intellect or great socialising abilities. No. Instead, all we have is a penchant for daydreaming, a brain that is good for daydreaming, and usually an ability to turn these daydreams into works of art. Pretty practical and useful, I should say.

You know what I think INFP are suited for? Being children. As a child, all you do is play, all day long, by amusing yourself and finding ways to occupy your own time, whether this is through watching films or movies, imaginary play, reading or writing, or singing. Playing the piano. Going for walks. We’re suited to being children, and staying children, not adults. We can’t go to work, dressed up in a suit, and talk important business-talk—that’s just not us! Nothing about us is suited to the modern workforce. And so far, the only solution to this problem is to either somehow make money off your art, or be on government benefits to survive.

Am I being dramatic? You tell me. Maybe this only applies to myself, instead of all INFPs. Anyway; I wish you a wonderful day, and I hope your life is filled with starlight and late nights spent breathing in the spices of the wilderness. Or something like that. Cheers.

15 Things An INFP Can Do When Extremely Depressed

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Life, for INFPs, is an unending mystery, the world a place forever falling short of our fantasy and ideals, and our society filled with unimaginative and selfish people: it’s no wonder we are a personality type that commonly suffers from mental illness, such as depression and anxiety. And, since I am in the throes of depression at this present moment in time, I think this is the perfect post for me to write. So, here are things an INFP can do when extremely depressed, to help them get out of their depression.

1. Stay around animals.

INFPs have a natural kinship with animals, particularly quiet ones like cats, and it makes sense to spend time around them when we are feeling down. Something about stroking their fragile, gentle bodies makes us feel calm, and protective: it makes us, in short, feel better about ourselves, and about the world in general.

2. Remember, if homelessness is what you are afraid of—and I certainly am—perhaps it would be good to step back and gain some perspective.

Maybe you’re not going to be homeless any time soon. If you are young, there are youth services out there for those aged 16-25, specially designed to help young men and women get off the streets. What’s more, if you live in a developed country, even if you become homeless, it is unlikely you’ll be left to starve: more likely, there would be services out there to help you, and you can always try leaning on relatives and friends for help, if needed.

3. Take a shower.

INFPs, more than any other type, are connected with nature. It is a fact. There is something about nature that soothes me beyond belief: it is because we understand, on an intrinsic level, that we are connected to all that exists (I mean, the living world, not plastic and suchlike), and that is something that is very comforting and soothing. So, take a warm shower—INFPs do not like cold showers; we might as well be tortured—and embrace the feeling of being with nature, deluged in a magical liquid created by God, for you to drink, and bathe in, full of healing and other wonderful properties.

4. Spend time around other people.

When you are depressed, the worst thing you can do is spend time alone, by yourself, in your room—especially if you spend it in bed, unproductive, and unhappy. Your bedroom turns into a small, enclosed space filled with the fug of misery, and nothing good happens. Instead, try meeting up with friends, or leaving your room to spend time with family members. Make sure you go out and see your psychologist. Do things that involve being around and talking to other people; trust me, it’ll take your mind off things.

5. Listen to nostalgic music.

There’s nothing like nostalgia to cheer an INFP up. We live and breathe nostalgia. I wouldn’t recommend watching nostalgic movies—I tried that, and got bored and depressed halfway through because they were no longer sparkling and wonderful the way they were when I was a kid—but music, especially songs, since they are short and sweet, can tap into that part of your brain that evokes nostalgia, and make you feel like life is worth living, just for a little bit longer.

6. Make sure you keep indulging in your hobbies.

Whether it is writing blog posts, or books, or short stories, or drawing or painting, or even dancing, whatever it is, keep doing it. Even if you’re depressed enough to want to collapse right on your face, as I was this morning, keep writing, keep doing things. This will boost your mood like nothing else, as staying productive, no matter how little, even when you feel like doing absolutely nothing and just turning into a vegetable, is one of the best ways to life the veil of depression, just a little.

7. Turn to God, or the universe.

In times like this, it’s time to go to drastic measures. There are moments at night, deep in the middle of the night, where I wake up and find myself so completely consumed with misery I feel as though my entire body has turned into a black shadow. But it doesn’t matter if you feel yourself connected to something greater than yourself, someone who can look after you, watch over you, and take care of you. Reach out to the greater force or higher being you believe in, in these times of crisis, and they just might help you pull through.

8. Start a blog.

If you are an INFP with an ounce of writing talent—in other words, if you have the ability to string words into coherent sentences—then I recommend you start a blog, and use it to help other people by talking about your feelings. Starting a blog was one of the best things I ever did for my mental health. Not only do I receive wonderful comments from people, who tell me my posts helped them, or give me advice, there’s the cathartic feeling of having expressed yourself, through words, to other people, who understand, and who care, just like you do. So, start a blog, if you can—you’ll thank me for it.

9. Maybe there are other chances in life.

Okay, so, if you’ve been following my blog recently, you’ll know that one of the reasons I am so miserably depressed is because I haven’t been published yet. But in life, maybe it’s good to remember there are other chances. Maybe I’ll find another idea and write an even better book. Maybe the person who turned you down will turn out to be a horrible person, and you were better off without them. Maybe your job searching, leading to all those closed doors, will eventually lead you to the perfect door, that’s just right for you. Maybe if this publisher doesn’t accept my book, another one will. Maybe. Just remember, there’s always a “maybe”.

10. You don’t know what the future is like.

This is a bit of advice I am still struggling to come to terms with and put in practice, but the thing is, you don’t know what the future is like. Think about it. A year ago, did you think you’d be where you are now? No. What about two years ago, three years, or even five or ten? Exactly. The future is ever-changing, ever-shifting, and you never know where it will take you. Eventually, you will have to come to terms with the fact that you cannot predict the future, and for someone with depression, that is actually a GOOD thing, because it means you don’t actually know whether the future will be negative or positive. Instead of seeing the future looming ahead of you like this fathomless black tunnel, see it as something which is full of both shadows and light. And maybe, just maybe, the light will win out, in your future.

11. Eat something tasty.

This is only a temporary solution, but sometimes, you will be in the blackest of black moods, and the only way you can get yourself out of it is if you do something drastic, like stuff your face with a bar of chocolate, or cook some nice, tasty fish, fry it up, and eat it all by yourself. Do not feel any self-disgust for completing such a task, even though you will be tempted to as you are gorging by yourself, if only for a couple of seconds: instead, view it as part of your own self-care program, where you give yourself a tasty treat, just for existing and getting through the day.

12. Always try to do things, even if you don’t like them.

Yesterday, I lay on my bed for four hours straight, doing absolutely nothing. It was the worst move I could ever make, because when I got up from that bed, dishevelled and half-asleep, I felt more pessimistic and depressed about my future than I could possibly be. So, instead, do small tasks that help you move towards your goals in life. For me, I want to get a job, so, instead of lying in bed depressed, I’ve been applying for some jobs requiring no experience online when I have the strength and energy to do so. It hasn’t been easy—there are so many jobs out there I am not qualified for—but there are a couple here and there, which I do apply for. Maybe—actually, most likely—I will not get a call back from any of them, but still, I was spending my time doing something. I have also been trying to figure out my career path, by taking career tests and reading up on a “A day in my life” posts from people in certain jobs, like childcare workers, just to get a feel of whether I can go into a certain industry or not.

13. Leave the house.

Do not stay in the house all day, depressed and with nothing to do. Why? Because that is how suicides happen. A combination of extreme boredom and depression leads to a nasty and toxic kind of mental state. Instead, go outside. Do not go for walks by yourself, or do any solitary activities. Go to the library, or a park, where you will be absolutely surrounded by people. For me, I go to a job agency three times a week, four if I am able to, in order to get out of bed and out of the house, and be around other people. Sure, I may not always enjoy their company, and all I do when I get there is search for jobs, but it is far more distracting and therefore useful than spending the day alone in the house.

14. Be kind to yourself.

I have been depressed for a total of two months. Ever since I hit “Send” and sent out my books to publishers, and haven’t received a single reply, and then realised both the books were crap and would never be published, not in a million years, I have sunk into one of the worst depressions of my entire life. And up until a few days ago, where I watched a Youtube video on self-care or something, I was treating myself terribly. I was berating myself, punishing myself, hating myself, and overall treating myself like a petulant child that wasn’t living up to a parent’s expectations. It’s the wrong thing to do. In fact, it’s a counterproductive thing to do, because doing these things only makes the depression worse. Instead, take a deep breath, relax, and treat yourself like a precious child. Now, this doesn’t mean going out there and buying yourself a $60 pair of shoes: instead, it means you sit still, listen to yourself, think of yourself using kind words, think of your future in positive terms, and treat yourself in a nice and good manner, letting yourself relax when necessary, taking a break when needed, treating yourself to something if it is within reason, like a $2 packet of crisps.

15. Know that there are people out there who care about you and understand what you are going through.

If you are going through depression right now, I understand and I care about you. I know how hard it is. I know suicide seems like the easy, even logical way out. Do not do it. It will be such a shame to lose a wonderful person such as yourself, and your family members and friends will be pierced to the core and scarred for as long as they breathe. Trust me. When you are depressed, and the rest of the world keeps moving on, people go to work, have babies, get married, and live wonderful, happy little lives of success and joy, it can feel like no-one cares, and you are all alone. But you are not. You have me, who spent a good half an hour writing up this post so I could help others in the same situation I am in. You have your family members and friends. You have other people in your suburb, your city, your country and in the world who care. Through the internet, especially forums, you can reach out to strangers, who will in turn give you advice and care for you. Remember: you are never alone.

A Thunderstormy Night

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Shell-shocked. That’s a little of how I feel. Here I am, sitting alone in my room, with my legs cross-legged on my bed, Taylor Swift’s new song, Gorgeous playing in the background, two books sent off to publishers, and life couldn’t be any more worse. Put it that way, I sound like a spoilt brat.

But that has no bearing on the fact that I am still completely confused, still completely depressed. I have lost faith in myself, and in life, too. Life was meant to be magical. As a child, it was. It is no longer. And I don’t know what to do.

I wish I could reach for something, or someone, who would assure me, and give me evidence, that everything would be “alright”. That I wouldn’t become homeless, or do not face a future of unemployment and boredom. That this is a kind world, filled with kind people, and animals, and books, and delight. But that’s not true. This is a cold world, filled with selfish people, and blood and murder, failure and despair. At least, that’s how it seems to me at the moment.

I can’t even seem to muster up the strength to write anymore, and that has been more devastating than anything else. Writing was meant to be my passion, my one true talent, and, now, depression, like some ugly monster, has utterly swallowed it and taken over. I am nothing but a walking home for this beast, this parasite, known as “depression”, as “the blues”, or, for those who are a fan of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the “mean reds”. Even God, it feels, has forsaken me; once a reassuring presence, He seems to have utterly evaporated from my life. When I reach out to Him, I can still hear Him, but He isn’t speaking any words of comfort that can soothe me.

Lately, I am starting to become addicted to chocolate. My mother’s client’s gifted her with a hexagonal bottle of Cadbury’s chocolate-coated almonds, and I have been unable to stay away from them since. They are terrible for me, I know, even if they do have an almond centre, but since I am depressed, I found myself reaching out for them, just for a little sweetness in my life.

I am thinking of doing a Foundations Course and returning to university, to studies. Perhaps from there I can even study to become a Primary School Teacher. It has always been a dream of mine, to stand as an Asian-Australian teacher in a classroom, and teach to a room of Australian students. But of course, these are all still works in progress. I am thinking of applying soon, perhaps next week. Then we’ll see what happens from there.

One thing I do know is, I most definitely do not want to study childcare. It’s not something I’m suited to, and I doubt I ever will. Primary school teaching is a career that can offer me many benefits, and I will have the ability to turn my tutoring skills, gleaned from experience in the past, to good use. I think, if given enough practise, I could turn into a patient, kind and caring teacher, one who leads students through difficult questions, and gets them through exams. It’s definitely something I am considering, and the one, single ray of sunshine or hope in my life right now.

I hope you are all doing better than me, dear dreamers. I hope you have good jobs, good partners, and, if not, I hope you are on your way towards gaining them ( I didn’t want to use the word “obtaining”, because jobs and partners aren’t pieces of a game you get by playing well in life; in my opinion, they come to you when you work hard, and are an honest and authentic person). I’ll be OK, don’t you worry about me: I am tougher than I look, and have even survived one evening of homelessness before, when I was kicked out of the house.

Oh, who am I kidding? I would never survive homelessness if it actually occurred. Well, here’s to new beginnings. To fresh hopes. Here’s to making a start on things, to going to places we haven’t been before. To teaching, and writing, and living the dream. I say this as my face twists itself into a rictus of a smile, and the sounds of the marching dead trample above my head.

An Unhappy Musing—Oh Dear

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Honestly, the titles of my blog recently could possibly form a new series known as “Very Blue” or “A Depressed INFP.” Well, I was scrolling through Youtube one day, when I came upon an announcement, about this random stranger, in some corner of the globe, getting married. Her name was Tanya, and I don’t know her, and she doesn’t know me, yet for some reason, I felt an overwhelming sweep of despair, at the thought of this stranger getting married, and living a happy life, with two children in the future, and a good job, and so on.

Don’t get me wrong: it’s not like I don’t want other people to have happy lives. That would be very cruel and horrible of me. No, it’s not that. I just felt sad about it, because those kinds of happy lives are the kind I thought my life would one day turn into. Now, at 20 years old, nothing seems to be on the horizon, not marriage, not a job, not children, not published books, nothing. At the thought of this woman, probably in her twenties, getting married, and living a wonderful life, surrounded by friends, I suddenly felt a wave of loneliness and self-pity, so strong I was choked by it.

You know, when I was a child, I always assumed adulthood, like childhood, would just fall into my lap. A job. A house. A partner. These things would just come, like candy falling out of the sky, just like the way I was born with a mother and father, or that, when I was little, I had a home to live in and food in the fridge. I took it for granted, those things, and so, when I grew up, I took it for granted that the normal, everyday milestones of adulthood would also just magically come my way. Obviously, some work would be involved, but, in the end, everything would be alright, and I would get to ride off into the sunset, happy and content, just like everyone else.

Unfortunately, it hasn’t quite turned out like that. For one thing, I didn’t finish Year 12, which meant the possibility of university was severed. For another, I have no idea what to study or what career to specialise in—in terms of finding a career, I am utterly lost. The more I think about it, the more I feel it is a problem of fit. What do I mean by that? Simple. I can’t fit into society! I am this extremely introverted, daydreamy, awkward and terribly self-conscious young woman, who bundles her way through life, and is not very much good at anything, except her one talent, writing, and even that is average at best (or, at least, in her eyes). A day or so ago, I wrote a short story about the Zodiac signs, and I was considering publishing it on this blog. But I felt so bad about it, so riddled with self-doubt as to whether it was a good story or not, that I didn’t, and ended up sending it to a place called Open Pen instead, a publishing company, hoping they’d snatch it up, even though I have no hope of them doing so and it’d have been better if I’d just posted it on my blog in the first place. Did that sentence even make any sense? I don’t think it did: it was much too garbled. I am much too garbled.

Dear dreamers, I am so lost in life I feel as though I might throw up because of it. Strange as it might sound, I believe depression has a genuine, physical, negative effect on the body; ever since becoming depressed, I’ve been getting aches and pains in odd places, and getting dizzy, even though I am young and meant to be full of health. My sleep cycle is alright, and I have no loss of appetite, but it is as if a perpetual cloud of greyness hangs around my head. This entire business of having to have a job to earn a living is beginning to do my head in. “I’m not good at anything!” I want to scream. “All I’m suited to is writing short stories, children’s books, and blog posts, and never gaining any recognition for doing so.”

My greatest fear is not homelessness anymore, it is boredom, because it is impossible to write all day long, and, once you become unemployed, you suddenly realise how many hours there are in a day, and how much effort it takes to fill them. The thought of getting a boyfriend, of doing anything else, apart from trying to get through each day without feeling too depressed, is too much for me at the moment. If I was motivated, I would join dating sites—but I’m not. Who would want to date an unemployed, twenty-year old writer, penniless and introverted beyond belief?

I am waiting for something. I don’t know what. The other day, my mum bought me some watermelon, and I spent ten minutes stuffing my face with slices of it before I realised I hadn’t tasted any of it. I am eating, I am sleeping, I am breathing, but I am doing all of it on autopilot, while my eyes remain glazed over, their expression listless. Suicide is out of the question: I couldn’t do it to my family, or have the courage to go through with it. Even in these respects, I sometimes feel like a coward. I am very afraid of physical pain: once, when I overdosed on Panadol pills ( I can’t believe I didn’t mention this yet in a blog post; remind me to), I was even afraid of the discomfort of an IV drip, as the little plastic tube directly entered my vein and chafed against the inner wall of my vein, creating great pain, so I am definitely not going through with that again.

It’s not all doom and gloom, my dreamers, even though I might appear to be that way. I mean, I still have a roof over my head, and food in the fridge, courtesy of my family. I still have my writing, and I still have hope, however small. I am just so discontented with the reality of life. I am panting with the desperation of wanting to rip it away, the surface of reality, to reveal what’s truly behind it: shining stars, and delight, and a world where I belong.

When Depression Hits

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I don’t want this blog to dissolve into a cesspool of moaning and groaning, but, to be honest, life isn’t going well at the moment, and I feel like writing is the only way I can keep sane, for the meanwhile. In fact, I don’t even know what I am writing right now, I am nearly going insane because of my misery. And the thing is, I don’t know what, exactly, I’m so miserable about.

Well, apart from the fact that I’ll never get published, that I’m suited to no jobs, and that, in the near future, it’s likely I, a bright and intelligent young woman, shall be homeless—why yes, I say, with a hysterical laugh, I don’t know why I’m miserable at all! No idea!

I actually have no idea what I’m writing about. This blog, since its birth, has been a raw and honest view of my life, and I have never filtered any of my thoughts and feelings. And right now, as of right now, right now, ladies and gentlemen, I feel as though I might go insane because of misery. Insane. Actually insane.

I’m so depressed I am literally going crazy. None of my writing is going well, and I doubt any of it will ever get published, its all pure—well, crap. I don’t see myself in any job in the future, not childcare, not as a library technician, nothing, zilch, nada. In fact, in this post, I am just repeating myself. Soon, in the near future, I am certain you will see a post titled, “I am now currently homeless” or something equally miserable. Gosh, aren’t I a ray of sunshine?

For the last couple of seconds, I scrolled up and down on my page repeatedly, a useless motion borne out of pain and anxiety. What do I do with my life? What is life about? Sometimes, I wish I had never been born. As of late, everyday I have been wishing I had never been born. If I had never been born, then I would never have become conscious, and if I had never become conscious, I wouldn’t have had the stupid pipe-dream of becoming a successful writer, and be feeling any of this misery in the first place. So, really, it’s my mother and father’s fault, for creating me in the first place.

I’m really not suited to any job except writing. Introversion isn’t even a strong enough word for how much I like to spend time by myself. Other people exhaust me, they really do. I just don’l like the outside world much; I much prefer the world inside my head, preferably one created by myself. However, I do have friends, and I do enjoy hanging out with them, and I don’t mind talking to psychologists. It’s the social aspect of jobs I find tiring, the obligatory greetings and smiles, the small talk that makes me want to squirm on the inside, the constant pressure to maintain a façade so no-one sees the real you underneath while you are working. The social pressure of having a job is the worst, possible thing, it really is.

I am stuck in a nightmare. This is what happens when I have depression. It feels like you are stuck in a never-ending nightmare, with sleep being the only relief. These days, I wake up and almost feel the urge to cry, because my mind, always trying to be helpful, provides me with such beautiful, lovely dreams, only for them to evaporate the moment I become fully conscious. It sucks. It really, really sucks—and you know things are bad, when I use a word like “sucks”, something which I try to avoid because it sounds very unsophisticated and crude.

I don’t even know what the point of this post is any more. I’m just typing words, hoping they’ll lead me to something better than where I am right now. Hoping some part of this will be nice and therapeutic. If you have ever been depressed before, I am certain a lot of what I am writing resonates with you right now. If I was depressed—I mean, if I wasn’t depressed—I mean, if I was someone else, depressed, and reading my blog, I would feel greatly comforted to know someone out there feels the same way I do. Do you know what I have been up to today? Watching videos about homeless people and homeless shelters on Youtube. If that isn’t morbid, considering my situation, I don’t what it is; it’s rather like a terminally ill person designing their own tombstone.
What do I do? Pray? Meditate? Hope? Blast some Taylor Swift music, and pretend everything is alright?

I don’t know.

Dear dreamers, I really don’t know.

Well, Things Keep Getting Worse

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If this blog can do anything for you, it is to make you feel better about your life than mine. Not only am I broke, unemployed, and trying to claw my way out of both states, none of my books, my most treasured possessions, have been published.

In fact, these days, as I trudge through the rain, umbrella in hand, my mind full of dark thoughts, I am starting to feel like a dead man walking. Or woman. Nothing seems to be going right; none of  the careers which I dive into seem to be working right, although, to be honest, I’ve only had three jobs in my life so far: one tutoring children, one working at a fish shop, and another at an age care centre. Nothing fancy, nothing really worthy of putting on a resume. Meanwhile, all my highschool peers are in their last years of university, have extensive experience in their field of work under their arm, and are on their way towards bright futures.

To speak even more honestly with you, if this publishing thing doesn’t work out, deep down, inside, even though I will be too frightened to go with it, I will be suicidal—literally a dead woman walking. Writing has been my dream since I was five years old. It is no longer a dream. Instead, it has morphed into something terrifying and grotesque: a be all and end all. Instead of angels singing, I hear demons howling. Instead of typing up words to build a better future for myself, I feel as though I digging a hole no-one cares about. I have nearly three finished children’s books inside my sleeve, and, while I would love to just publish them on this blog, or on Amazon myself for a couple of dollars, something deep inside me wants to reserve them for an actual publisher, so it has an actual cover, and I can one day hold an actual book in my hands.

I don’t know what to do. I feel myself slipping away. I hope this isn’t misconstrued as some kind of drama queen-esque mental breakdown, because I am not trying to be a drama queen, I am in real, true suffering. I listen to music, and I am listless, I stare out of the window while I ride the bus and I am depressed; whenever I think about my future, I want to crawl up into a ball and block out the sun.

Life isn’t turning out the way I wanted it to. When I got lemons, not only were they too rotten and sour to make lemonade, but they were also crawling with maggots and flies. You know an INFP has hit a low point in their life if delicious food, whenever it is available, is the only pleasure left in their life. I get excited about icy poles, for Dreamer’s sakes. When I eat, at least I am able to forget about the mess my life has turned into. Well, it isn’t such a mess. If I posed my books on my blog, I am certain hundreds of you would like to read it. They are such wonderful, whimsical books, that I am certain not only would I get lots of comments from my readers, but I would feel greatly gratified and happy. Even if I put the books on Amazon, and they cost a couple of dollars, I am sure someone would buy one or two of them. But that isn’t the point. The point is, I want to be published, properly published. And the more time passes, the more I feel as though that will never happen.