angels

every day, and another attempt.

When I am at the bookstore last week, once of my twice-weekly ventures to accumulate a library of my own to carry with me, I am in the row where the F's are and this guy approaches me, and he has a slip of paper, and he says, "You're beautiful. Please call me."
I learn too late- after I have stupidly obeyed- that I was not obligated to call, that it is not within the rules of proprietry to do whatever a stranger tells you at the risk of being rude. He's a genuinely nice guy, but I am afraid of him because he is a stranger. And now I have this person at my side, and they have Expectations of me and of my "beautiful eyes" and I can't bear them, none of them. I turn the terrifying sound off the phone and I hide it from myself so I will not hear it ring nor will I see its lights as he calls, Expecting. I hate meeting people. I wish I was invisible. I want to throw up every time I think of it.
And all of this scares me because if I hate meeting people as much as I do and if I have jump at the every heavy tone of a ringing telephone ring, how am I ever going to get outside of where I am now?
I have barely any of the people I used to have in my daily life. I took them for granted when they were there, when I was in their company every day, and now they have their lives from which I have passed, and I can't be a part of it anymore. That's natural, I guess, except for that I can't move on to anything, because of my fear, and now I am lonely. I also feel as if my brain is splitting and rotting, and I have less than half of my mind left. I am growing stupider by the day.
This is not self-pity, but this is release. Please prove to me that I'm not alone, I beg you. Please don't leave me to the strangers.