I DON’T KNOW

It's a sob sob moment, poor me, poor me. There have been times recently I feel like I've been abused again and not physically, but mentally. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I'm open and upfront. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to live my life and do the things I love doing. I might be paranoid, but I have the feeling that there's certain individuals out there hiding the shadows and for some reason they want to do harm to me and I don't know why. I've thought of a few the possible scenarios.

One. I offended certain individuals in the past and they still hold a grudge against me after all these years.
Two. I hurt someone when I was blind drunk and they’re out to get back at me anyway possible. Three. An individual or individuals are plainly and irrationally scared of me.
Four. They hate my guts and will say and do anything to hurt me and drive me away.
Five. They see me as a threat to whom and what they believe defines what a person should be.
Six. They admired who I was before I transitioned and now I’ve changed genders they see it as a betrayal that they can’t accept.
Seven. They fear me because it threatens their concept of themselves.
Eight, I spurned their sexual or romantic advancements towards me somewhere in the past (I am survivor of sexual abuse so I’m very reluctant to have sex unless I’m very drunk or I feel very safe with the individual)
Nine. I was a lousy fuck and they are still ashamed of sleeping with me.
Ten. They did something to me in the past and fear I am planning to get back at them. (Moron or morons I’ve got better things to do with my life than that)
Eleven. They believe I’m the thing that should not be. (Sorry to Metallica for using that song title, but all your albums after the black album were riffing down the shithole)
Twelve. They stole from me and fear I’ll find out about it.
Thirteen. I said things about them that hurt them and they can’t forgive me for say those things.
Fourteen. An ex-lover who despises me.
Fifteen. A control freak that sees me as an uncontrollable rogue that will upset their self deluded concept of how the world should be. In other words a dictator(s)/megalomaniac(s)
Sixteen. Someone or a group of individuals who are jealous of me. (Anyone who is jealous of me has got real psychological problems. I haven’t got much of life to be jealous about.)
Seventeen. They’re just fuckwits.
Eighteen. They’re psychos that enjoy making other people miserable.
Nineteen. I’m really fucked in the head.
Twenty. I’m addicted to conflict and even when there is no conflict my mind will create conflict out of thin air.
Twenty-one. I’m self deluded and mentally ill
Twenty-three. Maybe I've become paranoid to the extreme.
Twenty-four. I blame myself and thus expect people to treat me like shit.
Twenty-five. I wear my heart too much on my sleeve.
Twenty-six. I’m too honest and open for my own good.
Twenty-seven. I’m lonely and isolated, and thus I create factious scenarios to make my life more interesting.
Twenty-eight. I’m too smart for my own good.
Twenty-nine. I’m too stupid for my own good.
Thirty. Someone believes I have strange abilities and they must stop me to save the world
Thirty. I’m a walking talking idiot
Thirty-one. They can remember when I use to do ‘Jesus was a Biker’ and believe I am the anti-Christ or they are just a Christian fundamentalist who hate anyone that does religious themed poems.
Thirty-two. They are stalkers stalking me
Thirty-three. They are child abuses or pedophiles who fear I will see them for what they are and I’d go to the police( If I knew there were pedophiles or child abuser around I’d do whatever it takes to see them removed from society)
Thirty-four. Someone stole my writing and had it published as their own. (They would have to be real sadbags because I can’t get most of my writing published anywhere.)
Thirty-five. I’m an egotist who thinks I’m more than what I really am.
Thirty-six. I somehow fathered child in my distant past and now they are out for revenge against me because they have had a shitty life. (Alright, even I can’t believe that one. Soap opera fodder.)
Thirty-seven. I’m a poet and fiction writer (do I need to say anymore)
Thirty-eight. I’m scared of being liked or loved by others and so I drive them away and hurt them in the process.
Thirty-nine. I like people and love people too easily and hurt them and myself.
Forty- I’m scared and fearful of everything and everyone around, and I don’t know how to trust.
Forty-one. I like creating drama in my life on a subconscious level.
Forty-two. I expect too much of people too soon after only after just returning. So I cause shit for myself
Forty-three. I’m being ostracized for being different.
Forty-four. I alienate people and they feel uncomfortable when I’m around.
Forty-five. Individuals fear I’ll try to turn the clock back to the way things were ten years ago. (Sorry I am not a god of time and I don’t want to return to the past.)
Forty-six. I’m threat to certain individuals’ power bases and they have to remove me (as if)
Forty-seven. There are people out there that are just pieces of shit.
Forty-eight. I’m a piece of shit that needs to be flushed away.
Forty-nine. I really do care about people and there are people out there that like to believe otherwise.
Fifty. I’m being made into a scapegoat for others crimes.
Fifty-one. People don’t like me because they can’t put me in their nice little box with a label.
Fifty-two. I’m a disruptive and corrupting influence on others and there are those that don’t like that.
Fifty-three. I’m just a silly pawn in someone’s game that has created a very minor annoyance.
Fifty-four. It all in my head and should get medical help.
Fifty-five. I don’t wear skirts or dresses enough out in public.
Fifty-six. I reject the whole gender paradigm and there are those who dislike me for being as I am.
Fifty-seven. Underneath the leather and gruff I’m a very decent person who is really quiet shy and thoughtful. There are certain people who are incapable accepting this fact about me. So they do whatever they can to try to disprove who and what I am.
Fifty-eight. I’m survivor of abuse and perpetrators’ see this vulnerability in me and seek to exploit it.
Fifty-nine. I haven’t got a clue about anything.