My mother and I were talking in the car after getting groceries. She said I should probably try to remember what we talked about for whenever our next visit to the therapist or psychiatrist is. Here goes…

Mom was reading up on incest abuse. In it there was something about trauma and anxiety. Pretty much, the anxiety was used up to such an extent, later on whenever something brings up an anxious reaction, the body no longer can handle it – sort of like taking something into overdrive until it is used up quickly and is no longer there for other times you need it. In hand with that, I suppose that is how things worked with me. I used all my defenses against a bombardment of stress that now when I encounter the slightest bit of stress, I cannot handle it since my supply has run low. Usually just the smallest stressor will bring irritability. Huge amounts usually lead to… well, lack of interest in living.

There was another thing Mom and I spoke about, my reaction to the world outside the home. The times I would be really down, very jaded and found life to be meaningless and clockwork… in observation thoughts like that came about when interacting with people. It all started in school, as noted. However, when I picked up time to do college, such thoughts came back. When I tried out the library volunteering they came back. When I am not in such similar fields… such things never come to mind.

When most people look at how I live right now, they would say “That seems far more repetitive, boring and lifeless.” That never comes up for me though. When in high school, I would tell my mom, “What is the point? I get up, go to school, come home, do homework, go to bed and start all over. It is like being a robot, a wind up doll, a music box… a clock.”

I wonder if living out in the world is “soul killing” for me in opposition to how people would call the way I live to be soul killing. At note to that, I seem to care less for human interaction the older I get as well.

I was looking at something called “facebook” one night. There were a few moments I smiled and had something like elation go through me – that is because I stumbled upon the existence of two people I knew back when little; one in third grade and the other in sixth grade. I almost thought of trying to find out their contact information and say hi, but then I realized I did not want them to contact me back. I don’t like bothering with such things. I find socializing tiring and redundant.

The rest of the time I looked around and stumbled upon pictures of other people I was aware of in school, but never really knew. Looking at them depressed me for some reason. Most just brought up slight thoughts I had of them.

Like one girl, I never knew her, but I was aware of her since kindergarten. I remember how I thought she was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She ended up being popular even then and continued to be. I also noticed how her looks never truly changed even after fifteen years.

There was a boy who lived in the same neighborhood as me and I mainly remembered him as being popular and thinking back in elementary that he and the girl mentioned would be a good couple.

There were other people I knew or encountered when growing up. Nothing was really there to feel about them- just some names and maybe a face to go with it. There was an occasional “Oh, so he was still in town! I just never saw him as school grew.” Every once in a while there would be an “Oh, I remember her personality.”

Despite that… it just… tired me. Yeah, just looking at them and remembering small things tired me and made me sort of… go “blah”. The same happens when I interact in a structured setting it seems. Should I work, go to school or something in similar context… it just shuts me down for some reason. The thought of hanging out seems pointless, sounds unappealing and tiring to me. I don’t know why though.