/lit/ - Literature

>>21857558
There's an emptiness to me and I don't necessarily mean that in a depressed way, but more like I cannot consistently articulate who I am or what I want. I do not have any shape or form. When i desire, I do so in an abstracted way as though I've buried my own wants underneath layers separate from me.
The only consistency is this lack of consistency, a kind of detachedness and impassivity. Or maybe it's that I simply redirect all my passion into theoretical or subjects because of an inability to express.
From this detached p.o.v I know I am obligated to return a favor, but I sometimes feel nothing.
Except the awareness of the imbalance that now must be re-paid.
Ive never felt any connection to anyone. I perceive you being friendly, but to me there's no difference between being friendly or hostile. If you came up to me and punched me I might feel the same way to you as if you came up to me and complimented me.
The sense of affiliation I have is always weak no matter what. And so I'm generous to all equally (or misanthropic to all). Because I don't actually care one way or the other if im honest, and since I don't care I don't care enough to truly hate. I have no strategy.
Everywhere it's the same how naturally people form cliques, but I am not at home. I always retain an unshakeable feeling of being apart.
The differences makes sense within, but from without they seem only arbitrary. The difference between A and B might mean something to the As and Bs, but I'm not either so I just see A and B.
I could vaguely sense in my past workplace the different groups and fault lines between people, but I could never bring myself to care.
When other people answer or respond they are naturally sensing these fault lines and positioning themselves.
When I respond I'm slightly aware of that, but much more thinking about what the person said.
The more I sense the pressure from others to place myself, the more resentful I get and instead sometimes opt to purposefuly confuse.