"I was eight years old when I first realized I was different. It was recess at the french school I attended in the suburbs of Montreal, and while I was waiting for my turn to play chinese jump rope, I walked around the perimeter of the grounds, and just watched everyone else, the chaos of kids between third and fourth period. I felt so removed from it all, an observer of life, rather than a participant. And though I enjoyed it in the moment, over the years, it has made me feel like a shell of a person. Inhuman and robotic at times, my senses not as sensitive as I thought they should be. Other people felt a universe away. 

I've always been alone, solitary, never quite belonged, never quite had anybody. Adjacent. Almost but not quite. 'Oh...nevermind,' said to myself over and over. I've intellectualized that loneliness and have articulated my hurt into art. But I've also become desperate for companionship, and even though over the past seven years I've become a person I'm proud to be, and have gotten better at instilling authentic intimacy into my interactions with people, I feel...compromised.

I've lost the integrity of my spirit. It has been eroded and mutated and poisoned. I wish I was broken, instead of worn down by every instance of neglect, abandonment, misuse, and abuse. During my three years at university, I think I have used the phrase "no worries!" more than anything else, as time and time again, I have not been respected, shown basic consideration, or simply not made a priority. Sometimes that feels like rejection, of not being good enough. Other times, I know peoples' lives aren't as put together and organized as mine, and missed hangouts or unresponsiveness a manifestation of that. But that desperate agony for closeness has led to bouts of bad judgement, as I've accommodated and appeased and settled, all to a deafening resounding failure.

Now...I don't know. I've been taking a break from my social life, especially because I am terrified of showing what's under that image of composure I've spent so much time curating. I've been exposed to how damaged my sense of self has become. I thought it was bad how careless I am with my possessions, but for someone who has always prided herself on self-awareness and clarity, finding out how fractured I am has sent me reeling in shock. Repair mode has been activated, and I am so raw and vulnerable right now that it also means, if you're going to damage me further, please stay away."