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Deprecation a Fabrication of Our Lives

October 3, 2016

I find myself a little tender, shot in the underbelly of my emotional guard. Times run in three stages for me: vapid, insipid and stagnate. They only ever place me back where I started. I don’t see why, but it seems malicious. I feel my emotions welling most of the time, but I hide behind a laugh or two. I’m hiding from my real emotions that I seem to be unable to understand. Sadly, all I want is some recognition of being a beacon of amusement, but I find myself more of a burden lately. Insignificant to anyone person’s happiness and mine being a paralysis  of whom I’m entertaining. Human or man? Are the words not synonymous? I feel it, the difference. The truth. The similarities. I feel alone in my struggle through this life as I decide for and against what’s better for me. For the idea of neglecting my vital ambitions. For the final detriment of my self-loathing, am I the one rooting against my success?

Perhaps I’m being over-dramatic. Perhaps I’m being glib. Fact of the matter is that I’m not happy, and that is my one goal. I’m failing in whatever life seems to be. This static notion that we matter is just another fallacy that I find myself falling into with the rest of you fucks. The tendency to groan and boo any one’s sense of self-earnest-y is just a relentless faction of our own inability to be happy for each other. With any one of man’s defunct sense of nature, I find myself falling into each and every category of self-importance and a lurid idea of my selfishness. I am tender, and it’s not from being burnt by friends or family. I am tender because I’m a sweaty mess of a human like the rest of you. I feel and cry like the rest of you, but I’m sick as well. I am unable to make myself vulnerable, which is a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of weakness because I am afraid of being open to you all for you’ll see what I am. I am a true testament of man’s service-hood for themselves.

There are three options, which makes sense to you? Me? 2.

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