The Day I Stop Caring

Sometimes the things you want the most are the things that you should always stay away from. If not to protect yourself from whatever effects it might cause, but to protect others from what you become to protect yourself from those effects.

As the days count down to a matter of hours, I can’t help but feel the need to want the company of my peers as a source of comfort from the coming plight. If anything, the thought of blending as part of the crowd only serves to distract me from my unwanted feelings. Yet instead, I purposely resign myself to the best course of action that makes the most sense, reluctant isolation.

Not that it’s a hard thing to do when no one notices you’re not around. Still, I do have a choice to get out of the house and spend whatever time I have left with her and other people. Yet I don’t, because I know in my state of mind right now, I’m in no position to be sly, charming social animal I seem to be known for. Instead, I am but myself in this matter, bitter and full of self loathing for the things I have done, am doing and will do. Not exactly what you call good company, but since only few people care and embrace me enough to know that’s completely understandable. I’m not going to ruin other people’s day and make mine any worse.

Maybe the scary thing here is that things like this get easier over time. The more you avoid people, the more bitter you get and the more bitter you become, the more you will avoid people. It’s a fatal cycle that will end when something goes horribly wrong, but I don’t see how I can juggle both my depression and my objectivity without taking a leave of one or the other. Not alone at least, but I hardly have any choice in that anymore.

I think it’s suffice to say that what I feared breaking might have already broken. It just matters that I survive this no matter what the cost. Even if I have to carve out a part of myself to keep going on from moment to moment. I don’t think I really care one way or another.

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