Existence, for me, boils down to essentially two major choices. Do I retreat into the comforting depths of isolation, or do I brave my deepest fears and track down that elusive goal of interpersonal interaction?

Every instinct I have points me in the direction of escape from anyone who would try to speak with me, and an eternal separation from any situation where this communication might occur. Every day, I consistently hold this point of view as the ideal, and my eventual destination.

It is telling, however, that even throughout this determination to avoid people, I periodically want nothing more than to be able to manage it. Isolation provides nothing but simple comfort, while any message or statement directed towards me, even if not meant as reassuring, even if all it does is verify my existence, I often cherish and hold as sacrosanct.

This, then, is my dilemma. All that I am pushes me toward one extreme, while genuine exchanging of words suggests unequivocally the opposite. Talking, then, would appear to hold the answer, but I fear the very method of its delivery. Perhaps there is hope, but from here, the outcome I know to be optimal seems a dim aspiration.