I can’t tell if I’m a rude jackass or not

I hate talking to people so much, because I always manage to fuck it up. The worst is when you see someone you know and you have to say something. My social skills are absolute shit and I really don’t feel comfortable being forced to connect with anyone. The result? I’m aloof. I don’t care. I unapologetically try to keep interactions as short as possible while still (hopefully) being pleasant.

Really, I’m way too slow and inexperienced to socialize anyways. Feeling a genuine connection with someone is a complete mystery to me. Yeah, it’s social anxiety to be thinking about it still, but it’s also a reasonable take on my life. I hate this shit man. I don’t want to take the reigns and rid myself of this anxiety and depression, and yet denying myself the opportunity is throwing me into a rage. Happiness is too great a burden to bear. Life is too great a burden. My mind is a goddamn cluster fuck and I don’t even want to make it better. I like being isolated and unhappy all the time. But I also don’t. Fuck this shit.