Burned Bridges may never Rebuild

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In virtual space as in real life, I seem to have painted myself into a corner through an ill-advised pattern of asinine behavior. I crouch there, mustering courage only to be inundated by snarky asides pointedly referring to me while indirect enough that I can't properly address their comments or defend myself without compounding my image as a troll or pig or whatever have you.

If it weren't for the consequences, I'd admire how ingeniously people can launch an attack on others while avoiding a counter, whether that be through lack of giving a s**t toward subject, or support from those complicit in this persistently reciprocal campaign of abuse and mind games. I'd be sadder about it, but as it is I feel like I'm just a glutton for my own brand of canned idiocy, in that I return time and again to these old haunts only to be reminded why they were so rarely frequented anymore, and how persistent one can pursue a vendetta over a handful of thoughtless and admittedly ill-intended remarks that I've made.

Obviously this writing seems to come from a place of faithlessness, which I can observe in my everyday life. I know I don't deserve to be treated as an adult, though I'm well past the age of physical maturity. I've made no progress whatsoever socially, professionally, emotionally, and financially to warrant reasonable expectation of others' respect, and given the time I have to make up for, I can't imagine a future in which I'll be able to catch up, and perhaps even if I move from this they'll always see me occupying the same ridiculously pathetic ground that prompted and justified their cock-eyed ostracism.

I feel as if I've developed a psychosis around this, where I'll imagine connections between one place and another, and tales of my stupidity travel ahead of me in all directions like a sack of feathers thrown to the wind. People tell me my writing is pretty but what use is that. I just can't imagine having a professional existence where I've floundered so long, and unable to face people in the street, and barely able to face members of close family now. I'm a non-entity, headed for extinction, and I barely even care anymore to feel the slightest self-remorse and ritual self-pity that relieves the angst bringing itself around on itself again in the semi-ironic spiral that has seemed to underpin the patterns of my life.

Mine is all in the brick-and-mortar dude, I haven't burned any bridges here but I have yet to build any

I know it's a would-if-you-could, but if you know the troll is not you, don't feed it

It's not ingenious to disrespect and abuse others, anybody who decides not to attend to the demands of their conscience can do it. It's incredibly destructive. Playing around is one thing but people who are acting as adults care enough to stop when they notice they're destroying someone with their actions.

Thanks for responding, I appreciate the support and insight.

In some ways I think if this kind of treatment (whether it's real or just a figment of my masochistic imagination) pushes me out of a bad position (no mistake, my position in life is far from ideal or what I ever wanted for myself though it is otherwise comfortable) it can produce a good result. Like some kind of contention therapy, where chronic criticism or attack from all sides backs me into taking my own side by necessity, when I'm often enough the first to assume blame for the way I relate to others.

EDIT: I just wanted to thank people for having given me the benefit of the doubt. Rereading what I wrote here and there I realize it would be only a minor leap to believe I'm a troll. And surely that is true some of the time or perhaps even all the time, depending on what the definition of troll is. It's not always easy for me to distinguish an opinion from a definition.

For my complaints, it's a simple matter of common sense to see how I could avoid a place or group of people where one way or another I've made myself unwelcome, and find someplace else to project a more positive image. I think having been sheltered and perhaps emotionally spoiled as the baby of the family, a concept of home became my refuge from an outside world that seemed bent on my misery. In this way, my mind may have tricked itself into thinking the web was just as much a place where I couldn't easily pack up and find a niche in the outside, and that where once I'd felt accepted I might find a second welcome by imposing myself, which resulted in frustration and anger, and possibly a bitter remark whenever anyone refused to capitulate.

Anyhow, I can see that the relief I get from posting negative comments whether directed to others or myself, is only a reinforcement of the same defeatist thinking that I suppose a lot of people frequenting these kinds of boards indulge in. To be frank, I'm grateful that people haven't been too understanding of these lapses of self-pity. I think everyone could abide a little slap in the face, when they start to turn on themselves.