Operation: Vulner-Ability

Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.

Fucking.

Shit.

Do I seem calm to you?

Do I seem to have it all “figured” out?

Fuck this.

Fuck YOU.

I keep it together only because I’m afraid of letting it all out.

I entered an impassioned moment last night. I allowed myself to admit I care about something.
I was laughed at.

You scoffed at me.

If I am not to be taken serious, then why am I even wasting my time here?

Isn’t there more to life than being god-damned comfortable in our own blind complacency?

Do I seem calm?

Good; the forced complicity is working.

I feel trapped by this world; trapped by my job; trapped by money.

I feel trapped by age. I feel trapped by gender. I feel trapped by pressure. I feel trapped by image.

I feel like I’m under constant strangling.

I have to go to work now, so I can pay the costs of living.

How am I going to pay the bills next month?

Why do I feel so alone nearly all the time?

Why aren’t I living my purpose?

Why am I sitting at such a large table?

Why haven’t they called me back?

I need support here.

I’m imploding.

I’m smiling.

Thank god I went out to sing last night.

I need to stop driving that car.

I look forward to running.

Who are you?

– Wednesday, 11 February 2015 (1:43pm = 1343)

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