It’s weird how much I like the night. Most people love the daytime, love the sun beating down on them, the hustle and bustle of people as they go about their business. I don’t. I like the solitude that comes with the night, being all alone under the stars, knowing that in this moment, I’m alive and free. I can spread my arms wide, take long walks in the park and be as goofy as I like because nobody is there but me. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love people, I love the stories that make up who they are, I love their humour, their capacity for kindness and caring and I love that they all make up threads in the tapestry of life that sometimes weave into my own thread. Trouble is, there’s too many of them. 

Having lived the life I have, too many people quickly becomes overwhelming and the panic begins to rise. I have to get away as quickly as possible, hide, be alone. I can’t do it, my senses can’t handle being around a crowd, I can’t predict where danger will come from and in a strange way, that hurts. 

I know people don’t want to hurt me, I know that most would be horrified if they knew I felt like that and yet, the panic still sets in and until I get away, I can’t calm down and aggression begins to set in. 

It doesn’t get that bad very often but when it does I feel horrible. Not just for the people I’m mean to, not just for my actions in trying to get away, but for me. Being a survivor isn’t much fun when you still have the aftermath to deal with. 

I guess this blog is a way to try and get the feelings out, a form of therapy if you will, until I can see a real therapist. Maybe I’ll make some friends along the way. 


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