After our break-up I’d placed a moratorium on anything and anyone new from entering my bubble, and pushed out those that had stayed by me. Life became reduced to events that I could control, and so redacted my existence to the four walls of my apartment and two cats.
By spring of 2013 I stepped out from my bubble and attempted to reconnect with life, but the individuals that I had chosen to enter reflected only negatives, my mistakes and fears. The ones that I had dated were selected because they were unattainable and unavailable. I had traded physical isolation for an emotional one, telling myself that I had tried to expand my world but that I was too unique to be understood. My individuality was my safety net that allowed me to remain securely alone with a fabricated freedom.
The inner monologue warped from “I’m too smart, too unique, and too fun” into “I am too much, and I’m too exhausting.” They were the insecurities that had nagged me through my life, louder and more powerful than prior. I sealed myself away again, vacuum wrapping life to protect from usage.