schizoid personality disorder

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today, after administering a heavier than usual dose of emotional damage, my therapist indicated that i might be a schizo. i won't bore you with the details, but it basically means that i'm indeed a loser (as you might have already guessed) and will die an emotional, isolated wreck whose social needs could never be fulfilled because of good old fashioned, god-given incompetence. thank you, god

diagnosis is still an ongoing process, and my ailment might turn out to be something different in nature due to high overlap with other disorders, but i seem to fulfil many of the relevant criteria

following the appointment, i went to my favorite cafe, awkwardly ordered a cappuccino while being ugly in public as usual, and did some googling. i had previously called my condition just being kevin, so learning that there might be a more common term for that sort of elated me. moving forward, if someone asks me what the hell is wrong with me, i shall confidently tap the sign around my neck containing the wikipedia definition

as the sun set and my cheeks firmly nestled into the tram seat, i tried to begin the process of coming to terms with the crushing realization that my brain might actually be fucked, and that there really is no cure for what i had always presumed to be simple, fixable behavioral issues. you know, nothing serious. a cursory glance at some posts on the schizoid subreddit further set the tone appropriately. lingering husks of former people who have tried to be normal for eons and failed, leaving them dejected and disillusioned with their empty existences

tldr: i’m one of the severely weird, and i'm not sure if i can handle another second of my life the way it's been going. the natural conclusion is that i will quit my job and become a benzo fiend. this is your reminder to do more benzos. unless you don’t want to. don’t in that case. actually, don’t do benzos

ignorance is bliss. may death be kind and swift. godspeed

I’m a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence - Sylvia Plath