The ways my paranoia twists up my perception(s) are myriad and complex.
Even the act of trying to recognize, in public, that I may see the world through such cracked lenses... that very act could well be fueling peoples' avoidance of me: "He's talking about paranoia, and other paranoids have shown themselves to be somewhat dangerous"
I really would like to believe that the world is NOT as harsh and unforgiving as I've been painting it to be. Yet, I see nothing - so much of a void. The silence and the absence are so much more damning than voices in disagreement.
It's almost like you've signed off on a death sentence. It fuels my ideations ever so more, because I think I have no value in your estimations, or even less than zero.
Yet, even that's twisted up in faulty thinking. It is not my place to demand attention, 24/7. It is not my place to paint broad assessments of absence, when there is still a trickle of comments...
and, as has been said, time and time again, we put into the world what we receive. So, if I continue to remain aloof; and continue to focus on only one channel of communication, then why... why should I expect you to act in a differing manner with me?
(If I provide no clue - or, at best, very vague clues - about my attractions and about my interests, then why should I be disappointed when every clue is overlooked? ...also... i can not expect the cultural scripts to have been flipped, overnight)
Alas, I still pity my isolation; and I still want to blame everyone (including myself) for letting it fester like a bad blister in the summer sun.
I should do the left-hand writing, to break out of the Poetic Prose mode... I should, but I would rather talk than write. I would also rather have company, than be alone.
Instead, I retire, hoping to sleep.
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