I wanted to stop people from noticing things about myself, because of the ways they were voicing them in, so I ran away into my loneliness.
I didn’t really make a conscious decision to run, but when my life turned in such a way that a big effort would be required to find people and make connections again, I chose not to make that effort. 
I wanted people to stop talking about the way I touch things. Or look at things. Or eat things. 
I wanted them to stop probing and poking and criticizing.
I wanted them to stop paying attention to things about me that I don’t have enough of an attention span to notice myself. Because I never knew someone could do it kindly.
I spend a lot of time inside my head, and when someone starts noticing the things I do while not paying attention to the things I do, it makes me feel vulnerable and naked. So I wanted them to stop.

And yet, in the end, not having anyone notice things about you for you is one of those things that will eventually drive a person mad.

sometimes I just forget to tell myself that I’m crazy, 
when I’m writing this story and struggle with some part and think “I can’t just change this! Because that’s how it happened!

I also wish I could just see in other writers’ heads, to find out why writing some things feels like making up things any way you want, and writing other things feels like you’re trying very hard to ‘novelise a movie’ from memory (and a very old memory at that)