I can’t tell if you’re balling up snot from your nose or playing the worlds smallest violin for me. (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 8)

And I’m emotionally done; nervous system on collapse, all neurons have fired signals heavily and erratically and now lie exhausted from stress, cognition on the decline, synaptic connectors have unplugged themselves like friends who are now enemies, head hangs low, anxious – so anxious that I shake on the brink of paranoia and insanity, all muscles and limbs twitching like the tail of a dying lab rat, I need to escape or else I think I’ll die here, my soul will patter out like an old light bulb, the grief will kill me, I don’t think I’ll get up if I dont find some leniency, some form of reprieve, I’m so exhausted that I can no longer launch an argument to explain myself, I’m an outsider in what I’ve thought was my home; it’s always been that way, I thought it would get better but it didn’t and I find myself crushed under the solemn pressure of my own past and pain, the recriminations echo out from the dark, I’m my own accuser, I’m hated because I exist, all I want is justice like anyone else who’s been wronged, there is no forgive in me. I feel claustrophobic in my own head. Now I need a rope to use as a means of escape, to climb from or hang myself from.

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