○ Nothing feels as it should, and I can't understand why.
● "You're a stupid fucking freak, that's why," it mocks.
○ I try to ignore it, but I simply can't. I don't really feel confident enough to challenge it either, so I just leave it be for now and tolerate the abuse. But, all I do is tolerate this fucking thing's abuse. All I do is tolerate that which keeps me in a fixed place, a fixed idea, a fixed culture, a fixed identity, and above all else, a fucked up life. I don't know why I do this to myself. Maybe that thing is right about me? Maybe I'm just too far gone in my own mind to see clearly? The distractions help keep me sane, but I don't know how long I can endure the weight of everything. It makes feel stagnant, and that stresses me greatly.
○ I feel constrained and tired. Seconds become minutes, which turn to hours, then days, weeks, years... Time will go by, and I feel all of its weight compressing me into a slab of emotions. Talking to others doesn't seem to help as much as I would've hoped. Their words produce this nauseating sound, like the humming of an old fluorescent bulb. Blinking and fluttering its light in a feeble attempt to illuminate, but produces nothing but an unwelcoming atmosphere. Whatever I can take away from such interactions is shallow at best and awkward or intimidating at worst. I often imagine others may feel the same way about me, so I just try my best not to let it burden me further.
● "Ha, ha, ha, ha! You're so fucking worthless. Lame piece of shit! You fucking stupid, unremarkable freak!" it spews at me.
○ It continues to laugh and hurl insults at me. Nonetheless, I endure it because I can't afford to retaliate right now, but when each day its hostility grows, I can feel nothing but that crushing weight.
○● "Nothing... but... hate."
○ It disturbs me how so many people are just like this thing. Are they even people anymore? Will I become like them? Am I already? Are we all like this, or am I just very fucking unlucky to feel this way? I feel sick. I know something is terribly wrong with me, but I'm just too afraid to seek help. All I can see this fucking thing in every face I encounter, and it's to the point of producing anxiety attacks. Perhaps no one cares because they are already gone? Perhaps I am the one who's already gone and only looking out as I sink deeper within? What am I even saying anymore?
● "I've been wondering that myself," it says. "Just let me take take control, and you can kick back and relax. You look stressed. Hm, hm, hm, hm, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"