Actions in Space
I'm barely alive enough to tell you what I think; how I feel; what I want. I can't keep going on like this, and yet I can't just stay where I am either. How can I save myself from myself; eternally struggling and conditioned to cope. But what of a solution? Where am I throughout all the wars I wage inside me. Do I have any opinions? I don't care to. But the world screams at me: YOU MUST EXIST! How come? Why can't I stay on the perimeter in reflection and solitude? Why must I be a part of something so confusing? Is it because society is the genome of ME, and so, take part I do, in spite of disinterest. What shall I do? I have no one to put this question toward. No one knows what to do. I'm not hopeful and that's not tragic. Tragedy is the way I live. I watch Netflix all evening after getting home from a job which pays for my attention. So to what do I still have energy to attend to when there's no insensitive? I sip on escape techniques called booze and I tranquilize myself with plants. The dishes pile, the laundry ranks, and my dogs don't get to go outside again because... I'm the problem. I'm sad and tired and keep it all buried deep under bed sheets and exaggerated portion sizes of food. Call it depression, anxiety, fear, weakness, selfishness, none of the above, or an amalgamation of it all. I feel full all the time, and I can't find a space empty enough to unburden my sorrow. No one wants to hear me cry. My whaling reminds them of reality. I wont let them listen anyway. I'm slipping wildly through the void of Life like everyone else, and I don't know what to do about it.