The plague of a chronic mental illness is that it never goes away. It joins me in my social interactions. It holds me back in bed saying, "you don't need to get up. There's nothing important enough. Stay here with me."
It's isolating because those feelings harp on me constantly but I shove them away hiding them in a smile or laugh because people want to talk to someone with a smile. If I were to really say how I felt, people would roll there eyes, "again?" as though it went away and came back.
It'd be boring to talk about all the time. I need originality. I live vicariously through my characters as I stay shut in and cut off. Through them, I can make a difference. Through them, I can live a meaningful life.