...

I'll be honest, I started writing this one pretty soon after the first. Caught the bug.

I've felt pretty lonely lately. That's almost solely my fault. I have people that miss me and want to speak to me— yet I avoid doing so.

There's an element of fear. Not of them. Not entirely, anyway. Sometimes that really is what it is, though. It's complicated and varies wildly from one day to the next.

When my brain's doing things I can't predict, throwing other people into the mix isn't really a great idea.

"But Wren—" you may start, hypothetical reader. "A true friend doesn't care what state you're in. They just want to be with you."

This is both true and false. Yes, a true friend will do their very best to be patient—to see all sides of who you are, not just their own idealized version of who they believe you are.

But the falsehood lies in the sense that, really, there are some things that should not be discussed in depth with people I care deeply for. There are things in my life that no amount of love or compassion can solve. True friends do, in fact, care what state you're in.

Worrying others is a thing I loathe. In attempting to avoid that, I seem to do so anyway.

I could probably use more of the connection, honestly. It's just a bit awkward to feel like I have to keep periodically saying "Hey, would it be cool if I hang? I won't talk the ENTIRE time except through text or a series of weird hand gestures, 'cause I'm having this thing where speaking is physically impossible—especially when I'm turbo stressed, which is often—but I need you to be really cool and chill about it. Also, keep your expectations about how much I can pay attention to and follow a line of conversation right down in the burning pits of Hell. Thanks."

I just don't know what the hell to say, sometimes. A lot of the time. Especially with these random bouts of apathy and anhedonia I've been having.

Like, seriously— what do I do when I have nothing to fucking talk about? It's not as though I'm ignoring people because they bother me or it's somehow personal.

"Sit in silence" is an answer I hear, and honestly— the ones who get it have been fine. I'm just being weird about it. I hate the fact that my capacity for bullshit has dwindled drastically the last month.

When I steel myself to talk to people—to nearly anyone—I have to lock in for the immediate overwhelm of just... being a person. I dunno if that's an experience everyone has, but it's gotten worse in recent weeks. I feel like a disjointed flesh puppet. An actor on a stage constantly playing a character.

I don't like when people hold expectations of me. I understand it's impossible for that to never be the case, but it's overwhelming. I don't know what to do with it. Generally, at some point, I'll let those expectations down because I'm an entity that has major ups and downs. I'm articulate until I'm really, really not.

I feel more closed off in recent years. It's not like I'm doing it deliberately because I think it makes me stoic or cool. I just don't see the point in sharing all my deepest shit just for someone to go "man, you must be so traumatized" or "I don't really know what to say to that" or "I'm so sorry". People mean well, they always do, but I get tired. It's no one's business.

I've got a general script. I always have a plan. I know what topics are good and safe to go on about. I know which ones aren't. The latter generally gets reserved for artwork and writings that never see the light of day, beyond ephemeral text posts that have a set shelf life— whether that means they're scheduled to self-destruct, or I push the button myself whenever I feel necessary.

Some would read the above and go "haha, sounds like a classic case of the 'tism". While I can see the overlap, this sentiment bothers the hell out of me. I always feel it glosses over the experiences I have that are decidedly NOT under that umbrella.

Autism can't really explain my fluctuating belief of angels being in car headlights, or human corpses being the source of every stench of rot and rancid garbage I'm hit with. Or the plethora of other bizarre sensory shit I will not mention.

Hopefully answers shall be found, if I can buck up enough courage to seek them. Until then, keep all expectations low. Perhaps beyond then, as well.