Human Condition.

I do not understand the human condition. If there were to be emotion for all of mankind, and this is what defined them, then I guess I am not human. I do not perceive humans as emotional beings, but rather as objects - this due to the fact as I only see my self as one too. I cannot comprehend the concept of empathy and emotion in others, possibly for the lack of being in possession of such things.
I would assume that some of the world would understand this to be an implication of my guardians parental skills - though, I would highly disagree. They are not bad people, though you would say that they potentially decided to bring their children up 'unconventionally'. The advice they handed down to me will always resonate within my soul - "Trust no one". They taught me the harsh realities of life, you would assume too soon, but it is this that made me stronger in their eyes. In allowing me to fend for my self and learn through pain, they incurred in me, to an extent, independence. The only draw back as far as I can see would be the apparent absence of emotional training and its relation to other human beings.
I had not understood the emotional capacity of other beings until I had encountered a numerous amount of people, mainly, through school. I was not taught this amount of human co-interaction by my parents. Until then, I had conceived the idea that everyone was meant to be alone, that humans were not necessarily required, or dependant on social interaction to be deemed 'happy'.
Further witnessing of these events prompted my to investigate, learn, and adapt as my parents had taught me, for the second rule was - "Trouble is in bound for those who draw attention".
In time, I had been able to create a visage of existence amongst society - but only enough as to abide to the second rule, I would be a nobody. I would be the person you glace at upon inspecting your surroundings and be forgotten at second whim; I would be the person you'd know by name, but not by person; I would be the person that you would forget a years passed after graduation, for I am insignificant in existence.
My insecurities grew when expectations for my 'emotional capacity' were heightened with things such as 'relationships'. My gripe is with that of a pure trust in another being for the sake of feeling a security which I could not possibly imagine for I have not even trusted myself - and to an extension of this, how could I allow someone to trust me? I would not allow someone the liberty of placing their faith and trust in a being incapable to entrust it to himself; and so, I fear the idea of relationships because I know I will fail my partner; that I am inadequate in existence to be deemed worthy of being trusted and acknowledged in prose.
It is embedded in my soul, and without it I would be even more so of a hollow shell but without meaning for existence. Delved in my subconscious, it acts without my regard, doing things such as preventing intimate contact with others, as is 'blocking hugs' - the paranoia manifested by these rules constantly regulates the thought of potential failure to others in ability to comply with their wants, that, I am not a human worthy of this gratitude, this action of empathetic compliance.

I write this now, for, the last few hours I spent were of pacing in sheer darkness, creating a reason for the 'poison light' - a force that forcibly interrogates anything and everything, revealing their true essence in the wake of others, despite how cruel and inhumane the outcome, for truth is everything.
But in the darkness, there is no true form to any said object. There is no purpose for knowledge of any said object. Anything and everything can dwell in the comfort of the darkness, knowing that their ambiguity and their shapelessness amongst the shadows is what truly makes their form and essence unique.
As I paced, I felt a comforting cold crawling through me. It puts to sleep the insecurities, deadens my muscles and replaces, and fills me with a vile essence of pure nothingness - a force I can rely on for simply being of existence, that nothingness is a true fact and it will never leave me.

My mother constantly buys me novelty toys. She tells me it's to compensate for my deprived childhood without them. She has since long changed and now understands the monster she has created, one without will, purpose, or being.