I never have company. I have lived in this apartment fifteen months and I have only had company once. I think this phobia got started, avoiding having people in my space, when I lost my daughter. I am pretending this is not my real life. Massive life dysphoria. Is that psychosis? Delusion? Whatever?
I think everyone pretends everything, making it all up. Shakespeare said it all. He said nothing is good or bad but thinking makes it so.
OK, if a tree falls in the forest but no one hears it fall, does it make a sound?
It's all made up. So why not make up happy? Is it that simple?
I own few material things. Everything I own, except for some cash in a checking account, is in my studio apartment. Seriously, I own hardly anything. In recent days, though, I have been feeling
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