Space and the lack of it.

And I really don't know. Maybe this is just me being my usual 'weird' self but the air feels stifling and space seems to be closing in on me. Wherever I go, there always seems to be someone in the room with me. Or in the room next to me. Or in the room next to that. I can hear voices and other people's music and other people's T.V.s on and smell other people's smells, be it clothes or food or skin. And people are talking to me and demanding an answer and wanting hugs and kissing my forehead or my cheeks or touching my arm when they speak to me or looking me in the eyes and expecting me to look back. And everything is this massive blur of colors and all I want is to let out a scream so loud that scares the world into silence.
All I want is my own space. Where people can't come in. Where I'm with myself and my own sounds and my own air. Where nobody sneaks up on me. Where I go into a room to be alone and be alone. Where nobody touches my stuff. Where I can open my arms wide and fucking twirl around without hitting anyone, just because I can.
What I have is the opposite of the Stendhal Syndrome, where I open my eyes and the dizziness and the panic comes from the too much ugly around me.
Old George Orwell didn't even know the half of it. Big brother isn't just seeing everything. He's listening and feeling and demanding an answer.
He's in everyone we know. And he's taking our space away. Our time, our attention, our privacy. He's choking us.