My first foray into posting online was Facebook, I suppose. And I was (rightly) advised that what I was posting was weird. Who wants to read that? So I deleted it.
Ever since then I don’t have much confidence in expressing myself. Seeing people get crucified online for having the wrong opinion doesn’t help.
Maybe if you have enough money you’re fine. Who knows.
In any case, I struggle with writing under my real name. Maybe this is the proper response to have. But writing under pseudonyms means that I live and die here too.
I don’t know about that.
The paths before me are as follows: either learn to be content by myself or polish myself up to possibly entertain interacting with others in a non-professional context.
Life would be a lot nicer if I just learned the first one. So I think I’m choosing that.
A core belief instilled in many is this idea of always needing friends, back by science that it’s all tribe dynamics and other things.
I don’t know about that.
Let’s just forget all of the blackmail, all the backstabbings, all the ridicule and the Gallows too.
I won’t forget it though.
I don’t know if I’ll ever find my voice or feel comfortable enough to put a group of words under my name. But I don’t think it matters too much.
All that matters is whether or not you’re content on your own. A simple enough proposition.
I just do not see the point in blindly trusting people. Set up your terms and if they void it then end it there.
And what’s funny is that I just don’t know what terms I even want to seek with others. It’s too difficult to imagine. I can’t imagine a world where I don’t prefer to be alone.
Some say paranoia is the sign of illness. I think it’s the beginning. It’s when you see the jungle around you.