Ten

                                    

                                          
edited (10.29.16)
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Tristan guessed he had friends. He didn't know what point people were considered 'friends' at, so he didn't know how many friends he had. He had maybe two or three close friends, but the rest were acquaintances.
    Since his social anxiety prevented him from initiating conversations with people in real life, he usually met new people online. He had one friend in real life, but they didn't talk as much as they used to and Tristan was beginning to feel anxious whenever the two would hang out. He didn't understand why; his friend treated him like he was a prince and they wouldn't do anything Tristan wasn't comfortable with. Whenever he thought about his own actions, he truly didn't understand a lot of things.
    Tristan used to have friends, but mostly acquaintances, when he went to public school. They would only talk when they were in school - as soon as they left the building, they didn't contact each other. What did people call that kind of relationship? Friends, or just acquaintances? Once he dropped out of public school and began online school, Tristan lost contact with all of the people he talked to at the public school, besides for the one friend he had that he knew in person.
    He didn't mind being lonely. He had gotten used to it. The loneliness used to eat Tristan alive, but that gnawing feeling was replaced with guilt. Presently, Tristan felt guilty for everything he did; every small thing, every step, every movement. Did he deserve to have water? Did he deserve to live in a house like this, when other people had it worse? Did he deserve to be spoiled by his grandparents? Did Tristan deserve anything?
    Part of the reason why he didn't have friends was because he couldn't initiate conversations in person and through texts. Even if a gun was pointed to his head and Tristan was told to type a simple "hello," he wouldn't be able to do it. This was one of the things he didn't understand about himself. Why was it so hard for him to do simple things?
    No one really talked to Tristan anymore. He had called them all liars at some point, because somebody at some moment in time had fucked Tristan's mental state up and made him think that everyone lied to him about the simplest things that didn't matter. "Hey, Tristan, you look nice today!" Lie. "Hey, Tristan, your hair looks great." Lie. "Hey, Tristan, you can draw really well." Lies, lies, and more lies.
    Tristan's insomnia was making a comeback. He was worse than he was before; he needed to stay up to make sure that no one was laughing at him or injecting him with viruses that would kill him. His paranoia was a pain in the ass; realistically, Tristan knew that no one was out to get him, but his mind told him otherwise. He couldn't eat dinner because his grandparents would poison the food. He couldn't go outside of the house because everyone would stare at him and make fun of him. He couldn't live with the constant feeling of always having to protect himself and others he cared about - it was preventing him from living his life.