Addendum
I can’t escape this sinking feeling that I was never meant to be born.
And I do not say this out of hatred for myself or in the literal sense that I think I was accidentally conceived, but because I often find myself in a state where I am an unaccounted for extra item in spaces fit snug for everyone present but me. I’m not passionate or prodigious nor am I an entirely blank slate. It’s just that if life were like an onion skin, then I’d be a layer beneath everyone else; unable to ground myself like they can, unable to be as whole, or as present, or as decisive or as personable. I am so much but at the same time not enough of anything. And so many bad things happen to me, but never something I can’t be expected to recover from so it feels like a little jeering curse. Punishment for trying to take up space that doesn’t belong to me. Factory reject. But still on the shelf. It’s funny, I think of my despair like an abysmal black hole the size of the fucking sun, and I carry it with me wherever I go and I carry it with so much guilt and caution, yet it doesn’t matter because the curse persists and I am still pathetic in entirely too unremarkable ways and nothing will ever be enough to make me feel whole because I am not meant to be here because I overstayed my welcome the moment I took my first breath and I will never have the luck real people do to find factory rejects like me because we are supposed to be alone and we are supposed to be ceaselessly unhappy but never brave enough and for every moment of feeling as though we’ve finally transmigrated onto the plane of existence as real people we’ll have to brace ourselves for all the little unbearable despairs of that jeering curse.





















