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kingmudsy  ·  1533 days ago  ·  link  ·    ·  parent  ·  post: Pubski: January 15, 2020

So the comment I left last week about being alone got significantly more traction than I thought it would. Hell, someone even badgered it! In it, I promised to reflect. Here I am, reflected.

I feel the slightest bit of guilt for that comment now - I spoke of uncertainty, but I know why I like being alone. I’ve learned to love the accessories of solitude, but I know that’s not why I reach for it so compulsively.

I need it because I’m driven by anxiety to analyze every moment of every minute of every interaction I’ve ever had with another person face-to-face. I’m not too kind to myself in these analyses. I turn over every rock, looking for unfavorable microexpressions or sideways glances, churning everything I have until each memory is smooth and formless and empty.

It’s free-floating guilt in search of shame powerful enough to wield it. It’s made me clever, it’s made me wise, it’s made me precocious, and it’s made me tired. So tired that physical exhaustion hardly compares to the mental weight I’ve saddled myself with out of a sense of duty and a desire to please people.

So there it is: Staying up late. The world is quiet, but the watcher in my head (the one who delicately selects the warrants it will use to convince me I am hated) is quiet too. There’s nothing for him to watch, so he sleeps while I enjoy the stale night.

I think, too, it’s why I enjoy the internet. Written communication allows me to take pauses and convey myself more accurately, and for some reason I don’t put nearly the same pressure on myself with the pseudo-anonymity we all share. I think there’s more mystery there waiting to be elaborated on; maybe next week.

I thought this would be more therapeutic to write. Where’s my catharsis? I think I earned it.