10 June 2020

 Watching friends fade away into the past - that wrecks my heart. People that I used to see daily, people who enjoyed the same interests with me, even people who lived with me...

and now our paths have diverged. Maybe I moved, maybe they moved. Maybe one of us thought we found someone a bit more compatible.

or there was some argument, or some character trait, leaving us sore, where neither of us wanted to apologize or change. Knowing how tactless I can be, I can imagine that I've been tossed aside more often than I discarding them.

It begins to build this self-image, that I'm simply unattractive... that no one desires to interact with me. For a while, I can weather the loneliness and keep myself content. Until some crisis, personal or global, develops... and I want to talk with others. Talking with walls is pretty tough.

Also, our world is stitching itself tighter together. It feels like we used to be communities where 5 or so people regularly saw each other (like the comedy sitcoms?)... But, now, we have 100's or 1000;s of friends - according to the electrons. But, we're still human beings - we still have a tough time keeping up with 5 or so friends.

So, what happens when I get the impression that my interests are uncommon or unliked? What happens when I turn my nose up at sports, in order to play with mathematics? What happens when I fall outside of the beauty models that are peddled to us by the media?

It just hurts when nobody calls, when nobody responds, when there's no engagement, any more. It hurts all the more when my time finally opens up, and I can't distract myself from that void.

A part of me really wants to disengage, to stop trying to talk... even to take a vow of silence. Yet, I became addicted to conversation, I became interested in other people - and that part of my brain throws tantrums when it's "lost its fix".

Yes, I could read books, or watch media, or scour the internet. Those passive receptions may leave me better esteemed, than trying to fumble around in conversations and "chewing on my toes". I do not claim to have great conversation skills. My brain skips stuff, during narration; or my anxiety makes me talk far too fast for others to understand.

(I found myself breaking down, crying, at the kitchen table, with my Dad on the weekend after returning from Texas Boys State - Junior summer of high school. The intense competition, the conversational stress, the horrible prank pulled by the other boys - it all just decimated my resilience.)

(I also found myself trying to synthesize the co-operative housing with a summer tech job and my halted schooling, in summer of '96 - all of which was the majority of my obsession slipped deep into a manic episode. Oh, and there was a wonderful lady that I was crushing on, in my co-op; even though I knew intra-house relationships could end quite badly - I think that mania still pushed her far, far away...)

I write out these ramblings, to try to be heard, without having to interrupt. I try not to interrupt, any more, but it's still tough - and I can still feel left in the dust. (and then there's that mantra I use: I write publicly, to try to convince myself that I have an audience.)

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In any case, my brain's been freaking out over the last month or so. Too many conversation topics, too few listeners/responders.

I don't like the types of manipulations that it's trying to make me use... Stuff like "harming myself, to try to get attention", "thinking about suicide to get mental peace", "bad paranoia about how people will respond - or, more to the point, how will I try to respond - if a conversation gets started."

Is all of this solely my reaction? Or, are other people getting squirrelly, too? Are we creating false or new identities, twisted into existence by the quarantine?

(I don't know)

(I'm beginning to hate words)