On Engaging with Others

As the little button allowing you to follow me on Twitter and the little box displaying my recent tweets both show, I used to engage with people. I stopped tweeting (the polite term is "being on hiatus", but I don't think my sanity extends to coming back right now, and my social ineptness pretty much prevents me from ever being a charming, engaging person) when my depression got too bad for me to keep it bottled up.

It was perhaps a poor decision for me to make. No, not a poor decision - a downright idiotic one. I could have kept on disseminating my ideas, or at least trying to, but what did I do? I left. I ran away like a coward because I didn't want to take my problems out on complete strangers - yet isn't that what I'm doing by blogging? I say nothing useful anymore; I offer no answers, only questions, and even then I ask the wrong ones. I used to be able to think, I remember that well. Now I have a twisted, broken brain that I don't trust and that doesn't work, and I'd do anything for someone to take it off my hands. I claim I want to help unfuck the world, yet I'm not even prepared to stick around and even talk to others about it.

Talking and writing are perhaps the only things I can do right now - yet some days I can't even speak or type. Even if I can, I'm too egotistical to think past my own trifles. I foolishy kept my blog open and what do I use it for? Whining. Who reads it? No-one. So I don't engage. Through a combination of my own decisions and my own unworthiness, I actively turned away from the one good thing I could have done for the world.

I may yet keep turning away. When I am as miserable as I am now, I run away from people; I don't want them to see me like this. I'm only a burden on them, a particularly large and heavy and bony burden who is alive through foolishness.

A burden like me shouldn't even be trying to engage with others.