The isolation becomes more and more necessary. At the same time I resent the isolation that moving toward homelessness has forced upon me, just when I had reached a time in my life when I began to appreciate and perhaps even need a little social interaction, I have also found myself seeking more of it out. Not just physically, but mentally. In fact, the mental need for it is what is driving the physical part. I need it because it’s the only way to survive the inevitability of it. And the only way to survive the feelings that this circumstance has evoked. The feeling of not mattering; not being of any value; and the hypocrisy of my lack of productiveness and value being a result of not getting help in the first place; as if needing help is itself something shameful and indicative of being unworthy. These feelings are unbearable at their core. They create nightmares every evening that are too painful to remember. And they drive my need to desire isolation. And my mind does this through anger; lots of anger. And, aside from particular individuals, this anger is at the world; at the government; at society; at the human race. I almost don’t want to admit this to the world; the same world that I’m also so angry at? All I know is that I need it to survive this. I need this anger; I need to want isolation. Because being pissed off at the world is a much easier emotion to feel than being abandoned by it.