ie The Inability to ask for Help
I've loved the feeling of being alone for as long as I've loved most everything. It's stifling to be around people all the time. Even the ones I love the most. Don't misunderstand, I still enjoy spending time with my closest companions. But sometimes I prefer my company over theirs.
I guess it's just there really isn't anyone who understands me like I do. I know how I feel and I don't have to try to explain it to anyone. It's all right there, in my own head. So, don't take it the wrong way when I opt to stay in.
But that's a tad problematic, I suppose, all my feelings staying in. With nowhere to go, they fester. With no way to explain them, they infect every part of me.
I like the lonesome feelings. I would rather be lonely than spend time with people I don't like. I think that's the problem. I've grown so accustomed to being alone, that I've become convinced that I don't need anyone. And when it's glaringly obvious that I can't go on alone, I'd rather remain stagnant than ask for help.
Misery doesn't look so bad when you're used to it. It just looks like home. Maybe it's not very nice, but when it's yours -- all yours -- it becomes comfortable. And you ignore the leaks in the roof. And the rotting floorboards. And the mold growing on the walls. Because this is how you've lived for so long. The renovations would take so much work, be so expensive, take time that you don't want to spare.
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