Holding My Breath

I don’t care for most people.

Mostly I tolerate them, since it’s obviously necessary, but I loathe touching and I loathe interaction and I hate hate hate small talk.

There is a handful of people I like, some of them I even care about, but most of the time I fake concern, even with my own relatives.

It’s possible there’s something wrong with me, but I’ve always been like this. Sometimes truth seeps through the cracks, and former friends can attest that I suck as a human being, especially in fulfilling the requisite friendship clause.

But when I like someone, I like someone.

I have people whose lives I actually care about, plus there’s my family who pretty much mean the world to me.

It bothers me.

Feelings bother me.

Because it would be so much easier to not care.

Then I wouldn’t have this dull ache in my chest, waiting.


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