It's an unfortunate fact of my life that I think of all of my meaningful group relationships, for at least some healthy portion of the time, in terms of social politics. Schemes of hierarchy, words and their weights, social intrigue ... general nuance. See also: everything that terrifies and confuses me.
I have a hard enough time balancing friendship as it is; when a group dynamic or some sort of web-or-webweaving mechanism comes into play I become a bastard, born of terror (which appears, it would seem to me, as force and cruelty) and shame. I was raised, of course, by shame. I've found that as shame's daughter, I must cope with things being against me, and more so them being my fault. I craft stories in my head of why things are how they are.
If someone looks at me sideways -- it could not be a speck of dust in their eye. It's something I've done to elicit judgment, or a personality flaw of their own which causes them to act callously. Most typically, though, I believe that critical remarks of this nature (i.e. devised by my own maladjusted perceptions) is elicited by some secret wrong I've done. Something atrocious! Something worthy of hatred and (this is where it always leads) exile from the social circle. It always goes like that in my head.
As I got older, these stories became less elementary, and more dark. More ... twisted! Now it's not only that I've committed some horrid gaffe (or worse -- though this is more uncommon for me -- a genuine act of wicked intent), but that there are long, strategic and elegant maneuvers being made against me. To disarm and destroy me. And eventually, as I've said previously, to banish me. This paranoia is hard to pinpoint and even more so to subdue, so I go on living with it and following its guidance.