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This is a thing that has not happened in some time.

I’m getting to that point again where I find human interaction incredibly futile. I mean, at what point do you stop yourself and point out that you are getting too familiar? Too invested in someone else? And…to what purpose?

There isn’t one, is there? It’s like…for a time, yes, you get to know someone increasingly well…and then…what? The perpetual disappointment that you can’t get closer than you are. It’s not possible. And it’s so maddening because the suggestion of such a possibility is what makes one want to get closer to another, is it not?

The idea of perfectly anticipating another’s movements and intentions, and of surpassing even the need to finish a sentence you didn’t start because you know the thoughts so well that you are no longer even concerned with speaking…it’s the kind of perfection that I can imagine and yet never grasp. I hate it.

I hate the idea that no matter how hard I strive, I can’t reach it. No matter how much I share and share and how closely I pay attention and try to understand, everyone is still a stranger to me. I don’t know anyone. I know some things about some people, but what does any of it even mean?

And then there’s my own self…what is that?
I don’t know that person.

I try to know, sometimes, but I feel like I know just as much about it as I do about those people who are separate from me.

I think I’d gotten to where I’d had it with people being so stupid and “worried” about who I was, and now…I am always tailoring myself to deflect these “worries” by grossly exaggerating them. I’ve gotten so good at it. But it’s never really me anymore. Pieces of me, sure. But so distorted that I don’t even know what they originally looked like. Maybe they are not even there anymore.

All of this nonsense is making me unhappy. Not angry, and not depressed…just…dissatisfied with it. This is all so ridiculous. I want to be let alone, I think, and not be wearing these masks of myself to make anyone else happy.

Of course, I should maybe look on the bright side. These days, nobody is asking me “what’s wrong?” and “are you okay?” all of the time. That was worse. I mean…wasn’t it?

I hated the paranoia that people thought something was wrong with me that they couldn’t seem to put their fingers on. And that the ineffable “wrong” thing made them uncomfortable…

Fuck them.


Oh well. I am tired now.