Relieving Melancholy Through Isolation: A Half-assed story of my life

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It’s Saturday night. People are going to the movies, watching the football game, going home with friends and family, etc. What am I doing this Friday night? I’m just here at my dorm, playing video games on Steam and browsing threads on an imageboard.

I’ve lived in solitude for most of my high school life. I was the mute kid in class. I was always silent, I never showed any expression of emotion, and I never talked to my neighboring classmates unless I was spoken to. I had the personality of a robot. I spent my lunch time at the library, every day, doing nothing else but reading books or browsing the web on my smartphone. Hell, even my smartphone lacked any incoming text messages or calls. As a matter of fact, I only used the damn thing as a glorified web browser and as a music player.

Why did I choose this lifestyle? Why did I refuse social contact with anyone? Why did I refuse to leave solitude?

It’s because of traumatic experiences that I had in middle school and in the 9th grade.

During those early years, I was bipolar. My classmates knew that I would snap if insulted, thus I was tormented just on a regular basis because they wanted a reaction out of me. I felt very humiliated; I was being used as a tool of their own amusement. I hated that feeling so much, that I wanted to take action into my own hands.

On January 2009, during CST practice testing week: A group of my classmates decided to “have a little fun with me” during the break. No one was there to help me; the incompetent instructor (soon fired after the incident) did nothing to stop them. Suddenly, I entered a state of mindless psychotic rage; I broke one of the legs of a nearby table and used it to bludgeon the nearest student. Out of impulse, I stopped beating him. I stood there, staring at his unconscious body.

“What was I thinking? I’ve nearly killed a classmate.”

After 8 hours, I was sent to a mental institution. The staff at the Dean’s Office figured that psychotherapy was my best treatment due to the fact that I had a mental disorder. I actually felt lucky that I wasn’t incarcerated, which would have severely damaged my academic life.

Ever since those chain of events, I have feared talking to people because I feared being hated and feared being ridiculed. I’ve always felt that the closer I came in contact with another person, the deeper we would end up hurting each other. I also realized that the reason people did this to me was because they all knew my weakness. If I stopped giving them what they wanted, they would cease trying to provoke me. Thus, I sought isolation as my only means of escape and remedy. Doing so healed my psychological wounds, but carved newer lacerations onto my tortured soul.

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