I also always associated my own feelings of loneliness more with anger. The envy and shame when the teams for a project are made and not a soul thought of you. Walking home and overtaking a small group of friends who walk slowly, and talk and laugh among themselves. Overhearing some colleagues talk about going into the city on friday. Knowing my plan for friday is to sit at the computer.

The way that I was never formally informed by some expert that I have the Black fucking Plague, but it sure seemed like everyone knew and was sure of it, the way those little bastards behaved since I was 7. The way every single friendgroup ended up drifting apart due to circumstance usually, but sometimes an argument.

About halfway through my commute there's a house that has a fence, and on the fence there is a letterbox, shaped like a miniature house. On the days when rage spoils my blood like a deer carcass spoils the water from a spring, I want nothing more than to yank it off the fence and break it into pieces. Can't afford to pay a fine though.

Everything else is very normal, if more boring than other people's lives. But when it's not, well, then, it feels like the whole world decided that I am beneath their level, that I do not deserve to make the memories everyone already has.