The lonely road

I am thinking of something to begin with and somehow or probably like forever my ambiance seems to inspire me for nothing other than some expressive writing that to some appears as a "reflection of my creativity" while others might opt for regarding it as another piece of trash. But that, as usual never figures to be a part and parcel of my concern. I am contended, and mind it, not happy in keeping up with a calm physiognomy in whatever criticism comes up my way. That, somebody taught me, is the way Atlas seems to move the world. Punctuations, capitalization, similes, metaphors and other similar nuances of grammar and the language in the wider aspect have never seemed to interfere much with what i call as my own style (read genre) of writing. I am inspired by a tad bit of things and at times I prefer to roll myself into my carapace and never bother to be inspired at all. To some or probably all this might be a characteristic not-so-much-like-what-a-writer-should-have. So now when I actually try to accumulate all my energies into putting up one sensible piece of writing, it might end up as something with no rhyme or rhythm, probably some crass cacophony that if given a possibility and a chance my article might sound like.
Yet, when my friends advice me to come out of my self imposed slumber (read social isolation), I prefer turning a deaf ear to them and carry on being my routine moribund self. I write for nobody's good reading but for the sake of doing what i can (don't read like) do with a restricted soul and too many circumstantial limitations that have introduced themselves recently and with a casual air of seeming to care for me while they rest like the sword of Damocles on my head. I don't know how to learn from my mistakes but I know very well how to repeat them again and forever because that makes my really-selfish-self happy. I am egocentric for sure and 'adjustment' and 'compromise' have never made their presence felt around me. But I am yet to judge what worth do I hold. Am I really good as some people close to me say I am or should I continue to believe as I have always done that the world around is full of liars and that whatever they say is never worth trusting? I like walking the lonely road carrying the weight of my highly individualistic self on my shoulders, never willing to accommodate, even if it is supposed to make my life better. And of late, I have begun to hate hypocrites, thanks to my recent interaction with many. I can also agree that I am really bad at judging people and mostly end up being duped. So,this is one of the reasons for me turning non-social. But simply judging myself or writing about myself is not going to make this piece interesting. I am struggling to break the shackles of language, culture and above all emotions simply in order to establish myself and to prove all my wrongs to be rights. Someday I will or simply I will bury myself in the cocoon of my own thoughts and opinions and believe that my self led path is the only right path. I am no thinker as you might have started thinking after you read the previous sentence, but, I am what I am. I love living for myself and above anything else I have always given supreme importance only to myself. I love staying happy as everybody does and I find no harm in being selfish for the sake of my own happiness. The strange fit of jealously creeps down in me each time I see someone with a countenance as close to expressing calm. And all this indeed is an impetus for whatever I am writing at the moment and somehow I am inspired by the lull spread around me.