How to make life real and better

I can’t tell this to anyone, so I’m writing it here. My life has been quite uninteresting, and it’s gotten worse since the war. (I’m not saying I have it worse than everyone else—I’m just saying it’s hard for me.) After the full-scale invasion began, half of my friends left the country, and with the other half, our interests diverged, so we don’t communicate anymore. I think finding new friends isn’t the problem, but over these four years, I’ve somehow gone feral. I studied online, and on top of that, I spent a year at home half-heartedly looking for a job. I didn’t want anything that year, and I spent it on antidepressants.

Now I’m doing better, and I’ve become passionate about the idea of studying in another city. I’ve even been there and rented an apartment to finally start a new life—to continue my education (or at least try to enroll) or find a job there. But I’m worried it won’t work out. After years of quarantine and war, I’ve unlearned how to live a social life. I force myself to go out—to cafes, to different events—but I end up spending that time alone. Afterward, I’m proud of myself for managing to go, but then I always feel like crying.

There’s also this: I envy my former friend. We parted on good terms; our interests just changed, that’s all. We still follow each other on social media, and I see her life. She has a partner, they travel together, she has friends. And it hurts so much because I want that too (it sounds childish, but it’s the truth). I also want someone to love me besides my family.

Sometimes I think maybe I’ve already used up all my luck. That friend had a difficult relationship with her parents, her home was bombed, and she’s had it really hard. Meanwhile, my parents love and support me, and I have a home. It’s strange to think this, but maybe the way she lives now (or at least how she presents it) is fate compensating her for all the bad things in her life. And I’ve already used up all my chances for good things. I’m not complaining—I wouldn’t trade my family and home for travels—but I still want it. I’ve never had a boyfriend in my life. I’m not ugly or overweight (and I wouldn’t choose a guy who prioritizes looks or weight anyway), and I think I have a normal personality, but I’m afraid. I’m very insecure. After every single interaction with people, I think, “Now they must think there’s something wrong with me” (I shouldn’t let it bother me—let them think whatever they want). I compare myself to others all the time. I’ve had these issues with shyness for a long time.

I saw a psychologist when I was 16. She annoyed me a lot because she was too pushy (sorry if that’s not the right way to put it, but that’s how it felt).