Los Angeles has been an interesting experience for me.  Moving to a new city is already stressful enough, but pile on some unnecessary anxiety and you get random crying in the car because of all the traffic you’ve never experienced and low blood sugar which makes you even moodier than expected.  And that’s just been the first two weeks of school.  My anxiety usually manifests as overthinking, which I’ve managed to utilize in my writing.  Instead of thinking about the thousand different ways I could crash and die on the freeway, I can think of the many jobs a potential main character in my story can have.  I rarely get panic attacks, and when I do, the setting couldn’t be calmer.  I can get home from a stressful day of shooting (I’m currently a PA on an low budget film), sit down, get a glass of water, then watch as the world around me gets tighter and out of focus.  Some days I wonder how I’m even surviving.  The loneliness of moving to a new city is kicking in and of course my depression tells me that I’ll never make friends.  It’s even telling me that no one will ever pay attention to my blog (But I’m working on proving it wrong).  But I’ve been regularly telling it to shut the fuck up, which I’ve gotten a lot better at.  When you have a real passion for something, you’ll fucking work at it no matter what.  I moved to LA because I refused to let my anxiety win because I know I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t.  I refuse to let my depression win because I know I’m worth more than my disease says I am.  For now, I’m going to keep filling up that gas tank because I have a ways to go.