In The Car.

She's been at it for almost half an hour now. Talking about the randomest, most insignificant things. 

It's not like this is anything new. When my brother isn't in the car, Mom's the only one making some noise. If nothing, she's playing songs, or commenting on 'what an idiot that person is in front of us, doesn't even know how to keep in the lane.'

Dad and I are sitting quietly, listening. I can't see my father's expression. He's a Pisces, I'm an Aquarius. We decided a long time ago that that was the reason for us being more silent compared to my talkative Taurus mother and brother.

She pauses to catch her breath. Suddenly, it's silent as a grave in the car.

"Oh, my God. How do you two manage to go on a road trip when I'm not around????" she exclaims in mock incredulity.

"We don't," says my father.

Now she's silent. She's always had this notion about me and Dad not liking unnecessary sounds or their sources. I don't. But, you know, she's an exception.

And now I realized she's an exception for Dad too.

He squeezed her hand and smiled warmly at her. I couldn't stop grinning.

I can't love.

This defense mechanism has formed of its own self, somewhere in my unconscious. It cuts me off from all society, prevents me from letting go.

No matter how much the other person does for me, be it a friend, or a sibling, or a cousin, or whoever--I feel nothing. Yes, I am grateful that I have them in my life, and yes, I try to reciprocate the gesture. But I find no meaning in the task.
Sometimes it drives me crazy. I try going to all extremes, try to somehow let them in. But I can't. I just can't.

I spent all of yesterday night analyzing and typing up my muddled thoughts and emotions, trying to straighten them out. I'll post it here after some editing. Maybe it'll help someone. Or maybe it'll help me. Or maybe it won't. Whatever.