at arm's length

i'm a hermit by misguided design.

everyone's kept at arm's length, while every thing were kept close. i found that objects are more reliable than people. objects are engineered, designed to follow rules. it hurts less to be disappointed with objects rather than people. there's always a troubleshooting guide online for when things break. but people are so unique, they barely understand their own instruction manuals.

but i try. people have significantly higher inherent value than inanimate objects.

and i just need to sincerely connect. appreciate the good, compassion for their failings. my biggest stumbling block was always been my transparency. i never expressed my appreciation nor disappointment. i always had to put up this ironclad unbothered persona.

when good things happen, life goes on. when bad things happen, life goes on... without them.

ruthless, i know. it makes for a terribly lonely life. i've adopted it so well that when people ask me "how are you so skilled and knowledgable?", i flash a cheeky grin and say: "i have so much time for myself because i have no friends."

they never take me seriously. their laughter is enough smokescreen for the pain i deeply carry.

it hurts, but i'm still to blame. i never wanted any room for dependence. sometimes, connections are strong enough that maybe it will be worth it. but there's always that part of my brain that keeps nagging at the danger of abandonment: "they don't know how "too much" you actually are", "be nice now because the real you will eventually show up and they won't be able to handle it", "remember how your favorite tv series started to suck after season 2? yeah, that's what this is going to be."

so i may not have friends, but at least that voice has always kept me company 33 seasons later.