All you Zombies

I always have, and continue to be, something of a pack rat. In more sober states, I become terrified of using assets that might, for some as of yet unanticipated reason, become useful at a later date. The title of this post for instance (which I feel I should save for something more meaningful): It is the title of a book that I have been meaning to track down and read since my penultimate year of high school, but thanks to my insurmountable skill at procrastination and sloth, have to date avoided. So here I stand, in an attempt to break (in some small way) this crippling habit of mine.

I've long harbored a hatred for an person who, to put it bluntly, is not me. Be they family, "friends" or acquaintances (sudden or long standing,) I find it hard to accept anything but a feeling of general disgust and revulsion to any entity presiding outside of my own skull. Does this make me some sort of sociopath? Am I simply a bitter, lonely person? I've often lain at night wondering what this implies about myself as a person... Certainly I have cultivated personal relationships: I have a small (three in total) pool of what I would class as best friends, but even those I harbor secret resentments for. Perhaps this is a natural state for what the moral majority would call close friendship. Perhaps I am simply over thinking what a relationship should be. But still, I cant help but wonder whether I am missing out on true personal connection.

I suppose a bit of background is necessary here for my own personal benefit and explanatory background for any potential reader. I have never been involved in any form of romantic relationship during my lifetime. Nothing physical, nothing emotional. Certainly, I have lusted after people enough... I have even "loved" people on at least two occasions, and have attempted to discern reciprocation with these parties... though both ended in failure. I have had a total of 3 (for lack of a better term) "Best Friends." The first ended in rejection, and the second two petered out as a result of prolonged separation. Did they end because of my own inability to form concrete connections without constant reinforcement? Or was I only convincing myself that they were meaningful while I suffered the absence of actual meaning.

Regardless of the legitimacy of previous relationships, I have only ever once come close to being truly honest with anybody about my own personal thoughts - my anger, my depression - and I cannot help but think that such a deficit of release has crippled my ego irreparably. These days my instinct is to hate. My instant reaction is to despise and ridicule. Ever decision I make is made to hurt, and whether I rethink those decisions and instead mask my true feelings or not... I cannot help but feel drained by the thought. I mentally react as if I were evil. I physically react contrary to my feelings as if I were not. Whether I react without thinking or with, I have regrets.

Random Thought: Psychobabble is just more food for the predators