Intrusion

You’re rubbish.”

“No one wants you around.”

“It’s a chore to spend time with you”.

“Just go away. It would be better if you just went away”.

And so they continue. These thoughts. Pushing their way into whatever I happen to be doing. They tell me I’m a waste of space and a nuisance. That everyone else is happily moving on with their lives, and I’m stuck in a rut, going nowhere, because I’m good-for-nothing. They say that I barge my way into people’s diaries when they’d really rather I wouldn’t, that they see me under duress, and that I should understand that I’m simply not good company. And go away.

Until I scream back: You go away. It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true.

I’m trying to convince myself. And I know there is evidence that a few people do want to spend time with me. So I berate myself for seeking reassurance, “you do want me there, don’t you?” Self-centred cow. Why ask, when you’ve been reassured before? Your focus should be on others, not you.

image

But the other evidence, evidence that people don’t want me around looms large. I teeter, tremble, on the edge of conversations, looking for a way in, worrying I’m saying nothing, wondering if people want me to say anything at all. If I should be there at all. The evidence haunts me. It haunts me, and I don’t feel like people want me there. Why would they want me there? I worry that I’m rubbish: that they don’t want to be with me at all.

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