Several weeks ago when I try to discuss something about psychoanalysis in a group chat, a guy dm me and listened to my stories about my life (turned out he did not have any knowledge on psychoanalysis but warm-hearted). He said that he wanted to save me from denying myself and share his warmth to me. We chatted a few times in the following days, but I'm very uncomfortable being cared about. I told him not to be too close to me, as I do not want to establish emotional relationship with anyone. I believe to love is to be hurt and betrayed, and even if it isn't, emotional connection is too exhausting for me. I had too much in my life torturing myself due to just details. For example, if my message is not replied for some time, I feel disliked and rejected, and start checking messages again and again, so disturbed that I cannot do anything else. So when the guy said he would come to my city and wanted to visit me, I just declined. But today he sent me a picture of my local subway station showing he was trying to find me( I told him where I live before, but not exact). I became nervous. I don't like myself and I don't want to meet anyone whom I've told my true feelings to, afraid of being laughed at. I managed some word, ready to be accused of indifferent. HOWEVER, he later said that was a joke. Suddenly I got angry and then felt sad. He apologized but I still deleted him from my friend list. And hours ago I was still in grief. Rationally it was just a joke, and I definitely understand he was not on purpose, but I just cannot control myself from recalling all the times when I treated something seriously and someone else told me he was just kidding, when I expected something so much but they told me they just forgot it, when I tried so hard to achieve something and no one praised me. Like this time, I was really careful about my word fearing of hurting him, I mustered up a lot of courage so I can decline him. But it was a joke. I was the joker. I was easily played, like every time before. I really had suicidal thinking why I'm so useless and fragile, not loved, with fake, forced independence. Maybe after a night's sleep it's still okay tomorrow, but I'm not sure when some day I just get broken (the more I love, the deeper the trauma is.) and can't stand my life anymore. I am of no value and not needed. I'm empty, a ball of plasticine able to be shaped like anything they want. I want attention and want no attention. Oh I want to talk no more. Sorrow would catch me up.