Memory I Might Include In Memoir

I remember I used to talk with this guy I met on Okcupid. I think I picked him up from his house in some neighborhood perhaps in Magnolia. But I'm not sure. Like many others I have forgotten, I don't remember his name at all.

But I remember he told me this story of a schizophrenia woman he knew who was taking advantage of someone else. It didn't necessarily make me feel better about my own schizophrenic problems. But I'm glad he talked about it anyway.

But this is my dilemma. I don't blame anyone for leaving me if I exhibit toxic behaviors, and I don't blame myself for leaving Mike last year.

But that still just doesn't make me feel good at all.

I do feel like with every interaction, I have to calculate my moves and actions to where my friends never experience my rage or psychotic episodes. I've had to mask my own symptoms just so I didn't have to feel misunderstood or worse, abandoned.

I feel the need to do this all the time. I must isolate to prevent others from seeing the mask slip off. I know Heidi Priebe says the gap between who we are when we're alone and who we are when we're with other people shouldn't be big.

But that's grossly misrepresenting a situation like mine... A situation in which I know without a doubt I will be justifiably rejected for letting the mask slip.

My art will be the only gateway to my true inner world. But even then, there's still emptiness and a deep sense of loneliness. Talking about my experience is not the same as actually experiencing my inner world.

This is why I've always sought to understand people because I knew one day, I'd desperately need it myself.

Given how toxic I can be deep down inside, I just am not so sure the love I'm seeking exists. It can't... It just can't.

I'm seeking something that is nearly impossible.

I know I can't live up to other's expectations even the reasonable ones. Hence why I feel confident alone more so than with others.

But maybe I'm thinking too much into it. The people pleaser within me, but also just the part that is scared to death of making any mistake, especially the dire ones.

Oof.