Ended up typing something up because I was tired of the thoughts running around my head...originally this started as a general ramble, but ended up being about a single person in particular =_=
Anyway...here it is:

I canít do this anymore. I donít even know what Ďthisí is. I feel like the people I care most about are all laughing at me. The only people who can actually hurt me, and they are laughing. I didnít used to be like this. It seems that I either waver precariously through every mood in the spectrum or donít feel anything at all. Thereís no middle plain. I suppose itís just a question of which I prefer. I can either be happy every now and then, yet be subjected to loneliness, doubt and sadness, or I can opt to avoid all of it. Am I really that strange?

They keep telling me itís all in my head. They keep saying that I shouldnít think so poorly of myself. That I should abandon all my preconceived notions of self worth. That I shouldnít think everyone will dislike me.

Consider this; these things donít appear spontaneously in oneís mind. They donít form independently. They are reinforced over years by people, situations, disappointments and failures. And why should that be wrong? Why is my reality wrong? The criticism, the harassment, the abuse, the consistent kicks in the face, they are just as real as your words of encouragement. So why should I believe you over years of my own confirmed and reaffirmed notions? These arenít the assumed philosophies of an introvert. Itís not because Iím Ďshyí. It is real and itís true. Which truth carries more weight? Your truth hasnít been proven. My truth has been driven home with bruises, burns, broken bones and baggage that years of therapy wonít touch. Where is your truth?

Can it still be called Ďangstí if there is a factual basis? Can it be called Ďemoí when there is logic behind it? When itís subjected to a full battery of intellectual scrutiny, when itís dragged though logic, reason, theorem and realist ideology can it still be called Ďemotioní in the first place?

I am not a sentimentalist. I donít avoid attachments because Iím afraid of their connotations. I avoid them because through trial an error they have proven to be painful. Physically, emotionally and mentally. You can sit and tell me all day long that not everyone is like that, that there are genuinely caring people in the world, but my point still stands. Just because every stove burner in the world isnít hot, doesnít mean Iím going to willingly touch them anyway. Itís pure logic. In my experience thereís a good chance youíre going to get burned. The kind of burns that donít heal.

Tell me; why should I trust you? Why should I give myself freely and willingly and jump on the burner without a second thought? And why do I feel so god damned awful for thinking youíll end up burning me like everyone else. Why shouldnít I think that? What possible reason do I have to believe you wonít other than your own word? Every sigh, every silence, every time I sense your frustration I cringe. One of these times itís going to happen. I just know it. Youíll snap and itíll be over. And Iíll feel like a fucking idiot for trying to convince myself that you wouldnít burn me.

And you know whatís sad?

I wouldnít blame you if you did.

There is nothing natural about maturity in the physically immature. Maturity comes with wisdom, and wisdom comes with pain. Those of us with the greatest minds have endured the greatest torments.