The curse of the friendless is to ever desire friends. In truth, this is a curse which burdens all of mankind, from the shy to the gregarious, but one group placates their pain by some what satisfying this craving for companionship. Today, as everyday, I was reminded of my social ineptitude pained by them and limited by them once more. Please don’t misinterpret; I’m not a horrible person, not egocentric and narcissistic, not smarmy and snide – I do, in fact, have friends (by some minor miracle), I am simply not good at maintaining those established friendships, shying away in some inexplicable fear, subconsciously worried of incurring some displeasure or ridicule by way of my sometimes flawed understandings of interactions and misreading of cues. I think it all stems from a childhood where I was often preyed on, an easy target to abuse as the tagline of a joke, people I considered friends poking fun at me and sharing secrets I had entrusted to them in the form of public jest. I now carry the taint of paranoia, colouring my perspectives and dictating my actions. Despite this fact, despite all my inadequacies and inabilities in the world of socializing I still yearn for the friendship I don’t have, still crave it though I am fully aware I am too afraid to seek it out. It is innate, part of the human condition to seek out human companionship, and it would be considered a defect not to hunger for such relations, and yet every day I wish for such a condition, whereby I could live without the pain of knowing how alone I am and will remain, and the pang of wishing for it to be otherwise. I wish for friends, dream of them and hope for them, but more than this I wish that I did not wish for friends at all, that I could live comfortable in isolation. I am cursed the same way as all others, burdened in the same fashion as all my fellow man, destined and doomed to a life seeking the adulation of peers I will never gain. I am the friendless, ever seeking it to be otherwise.