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I really wish I could remember the exact words. It was some combination of "people don't like you", "women are afraid of you", "you have no social skills" and "you need to spend more time in the real world". But it was a long time ago, I wish I had saved the messages, after all, was it people are afraid of me, and women don't like me? This was almost twenty years ago, before her cousin started the war.

I thought I had a friend. I thought I had someone who would show interest in the mental drawer of trinkets and tinfoil I had picked up, of vignettes and reminisces. A certain unguarded warmth and openness had occurred, and I didn't notice when it went away (cf. : lack of social skills). And so when I was told what I was, while part of me was surprised, and part of me rebelled, it has been a comfort since then. Because she was the first person to tell me the obvious: I am fundamentally broken. While my other "friends" lie to me and put on a show of...something, I remember those moments of honesty fondly. I miss her. Not because I am some type of weird stalker (but maybe I am: cf. "women are afraid of you"), but because it would be nice to have someone who recognizes me for what I am.

I am 40 years old and unemployed. I tried something out, but the fear took over: how long before these people discover what I am? I have no prospects, no future, I can not imagine any type of interaction where there wasn't a screaming feeling in my stomach that I am about to be discovered. My tongue sticks in my mouth because people don't believe me about what I am, and what I am not. Why not just stumble into a big house and a secure job, they ask? I don't even fucking know where to begin, to tell them that no, no, they have me confused for something else.

That is why I miss her. She recognized me for what I am: valueless, repellent, unacceptable, something to be eliminated and rejected, thrown away, refused, forgotten, hidden, and that any attempts for me to be anything but that are doomed before they start. I miss her. I can't say how much I need to talk to someone who understands the truth about me.

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