That's the "lite," family-friendly, optimistic version. Between the ages of 13-16, I fantasized repeatedly about how to blow myself up in the middle of nowhere to leave no trace.
When you do the same thing and expect a different result, isn't that the definition of stupidity or insanity? At some point, the problem is you if people react the similarly. So, it's either a matter of forcing other people to be uncomfortable, trying much harder to remember the thousands of ways to not make others uncomfortable, or giving up.
I am guilty of oversharing, of assuming familiarity too quickly, and of anxious-avoidance. And, more recently, I had a test result of testosterone come back as 200 when it was 800 (300-1000 normal)... no idea yet why it is so low, but I do have a headache, sleepiness, sleeplessness, and no energy at all all of the time.
I also need to look at it from another perspective: I am defective in the natural selection of things, or I would've been selected for. That's the breaks of mutations, recombination, and selection: not everyone can be a bulletproof, perfectly clear-headed, polyglot, polymath, artistic, model, comedian, and graceful social master.
Between about 19-20 (1998-9), I went hikikomori around the corner from eBay.
And then, 30-38 (2009-17) I lived in vehicles in the Valley.
I had to move during the pandemic but I don't know anyone in ATX. The neighbors I've met are by-and-large, immature, vain, gossiping kidults so intensely concerned about appearances and status amongst the other elitist, self-absorbed, self-esteem (learned narcissism), entitled nobodies. They're mostly sales people, low-level managers, marketing people, and coders of the Millennial generation from 75th-downwards colleges without advanced degrees who assume they're so amazing and living-it-up because they can afford a relatively-expensive apartment (it's cheap for me). They party too hard with substances, so I also backed-off.
Recently around the pool, I saw a guy who was a dead ringer for a Soviet illegal posing as a WASP from Spies Like Us. The two women he met were wearing dresses that looked like solid-colored Lolita packages with giant bows on the back. They were, of course, unwilling to acknowledge the presence of anyone but themselves. I thought I was watching performance art, some sort of kink, religious sect, foreign visitors, or they arrived on a time-machine from Massachusetts in 1987.