I go on and on and on about my problem, until the panicky feeling inside me die off, and I proceed to doing what I was doing.

One way or another it's a horrible habit to people around me who has to listen and aren't exactly willing to after they fully understand and got a grasp of what was going on. 

And somehow it's a good thing because once I got the feeling off my chest through my mouth, I get over it. 

And as I was growing up, I rarely get to have friends who bother to speak to me, or listen to me, until I started a blog, where I started ranting and ranting because it's pretty much out there, if you're curious you can read, if you're not the type you can skip. Nobody can really tell me in the face that I'm too long-winded. I can say what I really wanted to because it's my space.

It didn't matter to me that there isn't anyone who bothers listening because, I was happy given this space to rant.

Nobody can tell if I'm crying, laughing, smiling, raging behind the screen while typing. I can fully express how I feel while saying what I want to say.

Things have changed a lot since this little space has been publicised. 

There are pros and cons, I found more people who probably find me relatable, but I can't say as much as I want to say back in the days. 

This is when I go back to people.

Because I need an outlet.

And then it makes me realise again, how people out there can be scary, how it can be brought up straight to my face that nobody really give two hoots, how they only bother to listen until they are no longer curious, and that I CAN be too long-winded, too annoying, too much of a hassle to deal with.

I started to ask myself, if I have to deal with someone like me, how will it feel?

And sadly, the answer is the same to what everyone around me has given. 

Dear me, what do you want? 

You this confusing, sensitive, high-maintanence prick.