I am extremely neurotic, but I think that I hide it decently enough. I feel as if just enough of my fucked up internal life seeps through to the exterior of my persona for people to flag me as being off. Body language is always a tell. When people are in a situation with someone that they don’t like or don’t feel comfortable with, they will unconsciously touch their face, squint their eyes, or cross their arms. These subtle cues get directed at me constantly, even when the person hardly knows me. Like I said before though, it is probably the internal rot coming from me that they can sense, on some level. Once they get a whiff, I can see on their faces that they want to be anywhere besides with me.
Everyone has a side that only they know, a side that they and others know, a side that they don’t know but others do, and a side that no one knows. I feel like other people intuitively have extreme insight into my character defects, while I know almost nothing of them myself. There is a weird middle ground that I live in, where on one hand I know that people don’t like me, but on the other, I feel powerless to do anything about it. The little amount of self-awareness that I do have is gleaned from reliving past mistakes and cringey memories. I don’t even have the capacity to form positive memories any more. If I could only be alone permanently, I think that I would finally be happy.
Every day, when I get home after work and other obligations, I sit down and talk to myself like a lunatic. I imagine myself being dead, and think about what people might say. Then I angrily repeat my thoughts out loud, saying “he fucking shot himself,” “what a loser,” “that stupid piece of shit,” or I’ll egg myself on to do it, saying “fucking shoot yourself,” “kill yourself you fucking piece of shit,” or “do it you fucking loser.” These aren’t voices, they are just intrusive thoughts that have grown into action through an ever-growing feedback loop. I tried to OD on heroin several years ago, but I haven’t acted on my thoughts since. That doesn’t stop me from incessantly and compulsively thinking them though.
I don’t have self-pity any more because that would imply that I feel bad for myself. I don’t feel any pity at all for my situation, to be honest. Deep down, to my bones, I just really fucking hate myself.