My irritability is always present, but when I am particularly irritable, there is nothing anyone can say or do that will do anything but grate on me. It does not matter what the relationship is between us. I don’t want to hear anything. I don’t want to do anything with anyone. When I am in a highly irritable state, I merely want quiet and self-imposed peace.
Earlier today, I attempted to visit family. I had not seen them in a while and – much more importantly – I have my mail sent to their residence as I move frequently, always choosing a cash-only, month-to-month lease wherever I go. Due to the abuse I suffered as a child at the hands of my mother and father, I grew up with my aunt and grandparents. I arrived at their house and was immediately subject to inane and unintelligent warbling regarding trivialities of their lives.
I found it insufferable. Others may be annoyed with small talk that has no consequences for anyone, but, for me, the genuine belief that they held that they were being interesting cut me worse than any knife. I’d rather jam knives in my ears than listen to one more moment of such idiocy. I had planned to spend the evening with them, but instead I picked up my mail and left. They did not understand why I was being so indifferent and they assumed – correctly – that they had done or said something wrong.
I realize that my response is not typical for people. Most would be grateful for a childhood saved from abuse and neglect. They would realize that the lives that were involved in that rescue are worthy of both respect and attention. Their influence in my life is noted, but I will never be able to consider them more than tools and means to an end. They should be there when I need them and only speak to me in response to thoughts I may bring forth. I’ve often equated my condition with that of eternal childhood. Like a child, I grow frustrated with stimuli that I have not asked for.