Restless Rabbit

An excerpt from the fictional tales of The Diary of an Introvert.

My nature seems to be that of an anxious little bunny. Noises, news, outings — everything defaults to potential disaster. It’s as if life is trying to catch me — and so surrounded by traps, I must ever be on my guard.

I know someone with the exact opposite view of life. She sees life as a fun place where happy things happen — the forces underlying life aren’t there to hurt, but help. For the longest time I thought that type of attitude was naivete or delusion.

How could these people not see the danger lurking all around!? They’re so ignorant, so warped in their thinking that they can’t see what’s right in front of their faces. I was a realist, they were just dumb.

But then I noticed who was having a better time with life. It was them. And then I started analyzing all the worrisome things I thought — I noticed they weren’t real, just imagined. I was scared of scary thoughts. Oh. I was the delusional one thinking life was out to get me. Oops.

I get it now. Yet that doesn’t change my initial reactions. I’m still an anxious bunny. I just talk myself out of the unease in every instance. It’s a strange pattern of course: Oh my god! Calamity! We’re doomed! Nah, nothing to worry about. Meh, whatever. It’ll be fine.

Existence is a strange experience. On one hand it seems tedious and artificial yet on the other hand it feels overwhelmingly real and too thrilling. I keep worrying that I might accidentally step into the roller-coaster line. I only enjoy the gently meandering rides.

I worry that life won’t respect my preference for a peaceful pace. I’ve known people that exited the park in horrific ways, some lingering in misery for much of their lives. They’re not me, but what if… what if.

I default to mistrusting life. I’ve seen things sour for some. But I tell myself to stop looking over at the thrill-rides, just focus on the quaint little ride I’m on. Some people like crazy excitement, it makes them feel alive. Me, I just have to sit on the bench and eat my pastry.

And so it goes dear diary, so.. it.. goes….


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