I Am So Down And Out

Feeling cast out, like no one likes me, like no one could (ever) like me, like I don't belong, like I repulse people or at the very least bore them, that I haven't been constructed to be with others on any meaningful level, that I am horrifically deficient for (suddenly) feeling like I need the company of others, that there is something wrong with me. These are not new feelings. They have been with me, to varying degrees my entire conscious life. I can't escape them; I can't out-run them; I can't rise above them. And, I can't disown them. They are an ugly part of me, even during the fleeting moments when my logical mind is able to seize control and point out the contradictions and insanity of these social anxiety juiced perceptions.

I can't seem to catch a break in knowing people. I feel rejection - even when it is not there or when it should not matter from strangers who neither know me or are probably not worth knowing in return. I elevate "their" perception of me over my own self-worth. It's a series of battles that I fight every single day as though my life depended on that fight - even though I lose every single one of those battles.

At the gym, I see someone who "seems" to go out of his way to avoid me and I feel monumentally rejected. I notice people engaged in texting and I become envious. I see people engage with each other, well beyond the simple and courteous greetings that are the extent of my interaction with others and I become jealous. I feel lost, alone, and broken.

I recently searched under "I feel like no one likes me" and found I am not alone. There are lots of Internet "entities" who claim to feel the same way I do, so there is some sick-comfort in knowing I am not suffering this destiny alone. And, some are worse off because they are bitter and suicidal. In that respect, I feel blessed. I am exasperated by my "condition," but not bitter. I am perpetually sad about my intense solitude, but I am not suicidal.

I have zero interest in taking medication, supplements, alcohol, or drugs. And, talk-therapy offers only mild relief that is shorter and shorter lived before I bounce back like a flattened cartoon image into my original form: a solitary, lonely guy who sees what an outsider he really is and tragically considers that as his inescapable destiny.