When someone makes fun of me, I turn into the smallest version of myself at 8 years old and I get upset and cry for hours about it. I remember those days well, I remember how much I needed a hug and affection.
I'm unable to explain myself to others, so I prefer to try distancing and disconnecting.
How is a dead motivation supposed to return to its place? This is a question I've been asking myself for a long time. Being imprisoned at home wasn't such a good idea. I look at it from every angle. Going out and being in a crowd isn't fun either. You have to endure long hours of whispering, which is overwhelming.