I’m stiff, and not in the right areas.

I’m barely open to new experiences.

Because am wounded, I carry armor and shields.

I’m stone faced.

When I talk to someone, I only embrace that person for a fleeting moment. I assume. I force myself to assume that no matter who is in my life today, will not be there a year from now.

This makes me a whole less fun in interactions, and less spontaneous. Though I can act spontaneous, it only seems spontaneous on the surface. I have my harnass on. I push people away. I mistrust most people. If I open the door to them, they will walk in, eat everything I offer, complain that I offered and that now they’re belly is too full and they will shit on the carpet and leave. Never to be seen again.

A rare example is my friend Ruben, who, as is his nature, is always rolling on, a rolling stone doesn’t gather moss, so we never hit the point of too much intimacy for too long. It also helps that once you’ve been friends for seven years it’s almost impossible to completely break that bond.

Other people never get to seven years with me. They leave. They ghost me. Or I forget about them. Or I actively push them away. Or the lack of proximity lets the bond die a natural death.

An other aspect of this is that – as my wife has observed – if people do not do what I want them to do I want them gone. You would never expect this when you first meet me. I think you would even risk saying I’m something of a push-over, but I bide my time and in the end I want to have things my way. Perhaps this is an other reason why Ruben has lasted so long. I see no reason to push him to do what I want. And he’s always carefully evaded any of my schemes, and I have let him. I think he often sees me as this tiny little Napoleon commandeering a cardboard army or a bitter Hitler giving commands to armies that only exist on maps. Perhaps I have more admiration for him than others, because he is more non-conformist than others. I grow resentful towards people who are too respectable, too predictable in their approach to life.

So am armored. When I meet people I’m joval and cheerful and generous, and when am alone I find myself to be spiteful and at war with all of mankind. Hating people and blaming them for my unfulfilled needs. And my needs are gigantic, unless other people hide their desires much more carefully.

In the end it’s a classic Teufelskreis. I’m not open to new experiences, am not open to people, and then I blame them for being boring. Some are just truly boring people, but some are not.

And so I go through life, almost sparkless, hiding underneath my harnass, trudging through life, full of hate, full of spite, my eyes fixated on whatever can confirm the vicious enemies that lurk in the darkness and make me want to put on even more armor. My body so tense, so cramped, for so long, that it feels safe, dull, but secure. It’s why fear getting massages, am afraid to feel open.

Most people I meet also wear harnesses. A lot of them even wear much more clumsy armour. Armour that makes it even impossible to FAKE being alive and engaging. These people are barely able to have a conversation. No matter where you poke at them, they are like socially frozen. Even if you manage to wake them up for a minute, they retreat right back into their shell, addicted to their safe numbness, afraid of the unleashed energy that tastes too good to be true.

We are a race of disenchanted, armoured ones. Hardly able to vibe with other people. Usually – as do I – limiting human exchanges to the exchange of money. Money becoming the sole reason for interacting with other human beings. Money as the enabler, the excuse.

I can tell you how I grew up to be armored, how I managed to throw off most of my armor for a couple of years, and how I got to wear a much more sophisticated armour than ever before. Armour that can pretend not to be armour. Maybe some other time.