I shut out the world with a simple lie, and convinced myself it is the truth. There is sold proof that that lie is true, but it doesn't change the fact that it was, at first, my own safty meconism. People tend to hate me, probbaly cause they can sense the hatred in my self. They seek to help me, but my fears tell me there trying to hurt me. I try to tell them, but my heart picks up and my head races. Everything they do seems to hold some posiblity of being used against me. I get scared and try to talk circles around them to let them let me go, but they only purse me even harder. Things seem so meaningless, and insignificat. As if none of it matters after it is over. I begin to question things people normally wouldn't, and the only answers i find depresse me, and make me want to learn the truth even more. All the answer i come to lead to depression and angst, but it doesn't create it, for it was always there. All my life i hated myself, and everything i did. I'd take a step, and regreat having done it. I'd see what i am, and hate it. I'd realize what i do to others, and wish i could stop it. Born a burdon of society, I curse my parents for making me such. I cry when no one looks, and laugh when they do. I'd rather stay away from the world, and live in my room, as i've done for so many years. Yet i'm forced each day to face the world and all the people in it. Each day i'm out i realize i only have so much time before i'm torn completely from my room, to face the world, whether i'm ready or not. I cry when i sleep, but will never admit it. I wish to have a door through which to exit, since i will never have a hand to calm me. In the mean time, i shall wait for the end.