Left hand twitch, twitch

I'm not going to lie, it hasn't been easy lately.

Trouble reaching out to people again. Being... you know, me, and everything, it's hard to make connections on even basic levels. The world hates people who claim to be different, because virtually all of the time they're just being pretentious. So when I say I hurt in places most people aren't even aware they have, even I stop taking myself seriously. Add this to the hyper-compression of ideas (you try explaining a twenty-minute thought in thirty seconds) and it's a wonder I can communicate at all.

I'm sick of emotions. I've come to accept that I really do feel things more strongly than most people, if only because I lack the processes needed to block them out. So yes, I do feel emotional extremes; I feel love, I feel terror, I feel hate, I feel pain. Don't tell me what I am or am not capable of feeling. I want to tell some people that I love them, but I don't think they want to hear it. I want to tell some people that I hate them, but I don't think they'd understand why. Some of these people are the same people. I've never been much good at getting over emotions.

I'll only say this once. The whole, I was lying every time I told you that I loved you, thing? That hurt. That really, really hurt. It's not just a slap in the face, it's a slap in the face with a barbed wire glove filled with fire ants and thumbtacks. If I wasn't such a self-destructively forgiving person I might even be a little bit angry about that. As is I'm just bitter and deflated. Someone regrets my involvement in their life. My existence feels significantly less justified.

I should stay away from people. Honestly, I'm a horrible person. Clingy. Oversensitive. Completely self-obsessed. Indecisive. Impossible to talk to. Constantly putting himself down. No one needs someone like me in their life.

1st draft of poem: The Man With Many Masks
There was a man who wore a mask.
On that mask was a smiling face.
He made no attempt to hide it, and most people assumed that underneath his mask he really was happy.
A few, though, who talked to him, learned that he wasn't really happy at all. They wondered what he was like under the mask.
So they looked.
And beneath his smiling exterior was the saddest, loneliest face they had ever seen.
And those who were overcome with pity swore that they would help him smile again.
They left, of course, when they discovered he was wearing his angry mask beneath that.