Little apocryphal story

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As I was a teen I felt estranged and depressed. It was an acute feeling of “not belonging”, of feeling like being in a glass cage. My universe was my aching inflated self. Why was I where I was alone ? It looked as if the only reality was my self consciousness, validated by nothing. I felt imprisoned in my egotism and I called this condition my metaphysical malady, though I didn’t know anything about philosophy or religion. Then my life was all a strenuous effort to connect, do be validated by some external agency. It was all a self deception, nourished by some form of abundant vitality, but without substance. The metaphysical malady was always on my shoulders, ready to get hold of me and lay in shatters all my imaginary castles where I Imagined I could live, where I hoped I could find a home. Waiting all my life before a door deceptively ajar, up to the moment when some low echelon guardian would ask me “what are you doing here?” we close, these are the rules. The low echelon guardian might be a physician or an accountant of vital statistics, it might be the End in a grotesque ragged costume of a bum.