If I close my eyes, is it real?
What I would not give for the familiar feeling of comfort once more.
For however well I may intellectualize the realities of the world I share,
I become a simple-minded, scared animal, crying for her mother.
I desire to flee. I feel trapped within these four walls.
I oscillate rapidly between rationalization and sheer dread.
I become broken down. My zone is flooded.
Their strategy is working.
How eagerly I sacrificed my privilege to live as myself just four short years ago.
And yet, I yearn for comfort. I just want to feel safe again. I can’t fight, within a community or independently.
What good is delaying the inevitable?
For however well I have embraced my personality and quirks,
I must admit I have failed.
I have succumbed to the virus of self-absorption.
I scramble to find anything to blame,
my parents! my teachers! my friends! society!
All to soften the blow of reality.
I am but a pawn, molded by naught but privilege and propaganda.
Something is wrong with me. I am not serviceable or worthwhile to maintain anymore. I will summarily be deactivated at their soonest convenience.
Should I just do it myself?
Anything for master’s convenience.
I was neither good enough, nor a meaningful detriment. My value is rendered purgatory.
I realize this, and in keeping with my survival instincts, I exist and aim to please. I take up no space. I do not take community in others, lest I commit the offense of disruption.
All I do is simply breathe in, breathe out. In doing so, I struggle to keep going.