and yet, it’s been my constant companion for as many years as I can remember. I can recall when I was doing my undergrad course on, of all things, The Psychology of Death and Dying, some of my classmates had NEVER lost anyone close to them. Hell, most of my classmates. I on the other hand, have lost everyone. It’s hard to fore myself to attach emotionally to new people after all that loss too. It’s hard for me to make the case that it’s worth the effort, and subsequent pain. It’s not that I’m antisocial, I like (most) people well enough. I just don’t bond with them well. Most of them have had such sheltered, happy little lives that they get upset over shit that doesn’t matter and it irritates me. I can’t make myself give a shit over who is running a little social club thing when there are REAL problems, and illness, and death. I just can’t blow a petty clique into something that important, and the fact that those around me do, well it brings out something pretty close to contempt in me for the whole mess. I can’t imagine being so sheltered that it WOULD matter. It’s completely outside of my experiential margins. I hate that from the day I was ripped from my mother and brother by social services, my life has been measured in losses. I hate the insecurity those losses bring. Grief Sucks.