I've always been riddled by a vague
sense of that foreboding spiral. The great quantitative abyss that
constitutes life. Days wash by without ever seeming to stick. At
times I wonder if I'm a robot malfunctioning or just a hapless zombie
waiting for the good guys to stick an axe to my head. I've never been
good at figuring out which one is me. I suppose that's the point. The
heightened anxiety that pervades in and around my life like secret
spies tapping into my thoughts. Speech has become nullified. A
context with which I cannot take part in any more. I wanted to sever
my vocal chords but somebody got to me before I got the chance. I
hadn't even made the decision as to whether it would've been a rope
or a knife but you get the idea.
I live for the days I go to hospital, I
feel strangely alive there. They are the highlight of my life.
Stranded on a bed, alone, with my eyes on the blue skies outside
while the pain in my fractured wrist seeps out into the bed.
Transfixed by the skies. If only I was smart enough, I'd be out
there, enjoying the jet set life. But instead I'm hounded and haunted
by the aggression of others. I just don't have what it takes. A
teacher once said that I was “mystery wrapped in an enigma” which
I thought was strange. There wasn't really anything to get. I don't
have anything special to offer and I don't hide it. Ah confidence,
you'd be amazed at how lousy you really are!
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