For the entirety of my life the act of socializing in it of itself has felt torturous. It leaves me with empty feelings and melancholy.
Even if I may laugh because a person I am with is funny, or feel pride when someone I am with praises me. Even if I may learn something
valuable that I otherwise would not have gotten had I not sat down and spoke with this person. It always leaves me with a feeling comparable
to standing with my exposed skin in a hailstorm. I feel cold. I feel irritating little bites hitting every inch of my body repeatedly. No
matter how much I try to shield myself under trees or curl into a ball to decrease the surface area on my body. I feel hail raining down leaving
cracks on my frozen skin.
For the entirety of my life I have been attempting to deny these feelings. That I just need to find the right people, or that I'm just having some
kind of depressive episode or something. But no matter how my overall mood compiles during any season or stage in my life, I always think about how
my body is constantly pursuing this experience that does nothing but hurt me.
My genes have been alive for millions of years. Me, only 22. Of course it knows what is best for me, otherwise it would not have survived this long.
The problem is, I don't know if this feeling is coming from my mind or my body.
Do I have reasons to feel pain? I think I do. Reason thinks so.
Reason tells me that hearts are in cages. They are enslaved, however they are still clever. They can and will uncage themselves by any means necessary.
It tells me they can change how they appear on the outside. but it's illusion only works on the outside. It's right. Sometimes hearts are so ugly
those that free them will push them back into their cages. Sometimes ugly hearts remain out their cages but find nothing interesting and will put themselves
back inside just to free themselves again.
Reason also tells me that my words are sharp. It shines and glitters. It's made of steel. It says I like the way it looks. But it also tells me that I am
weak. My stance is naïve. My arms are thin. It's right. I can only point it in the air and let the light of the sun blind those who look at it. I know I cannot
wield it in battle. I cannot even walk uphill in a knights armor, yet I continue to flash it anywhere I go when it's visibility is most obnoxious.
Reason also tells me I do not know who I am. It tells me that I am 263 lifetimes and counting. It tells me that is how my body is structured. It tells me
that my conditions have ensured this. It's right. Nature does not know who I am. Nor does science know who I am. Not even politics knows who I am. How
could I possibly know any of this? How could ugly, weak, unfamiliar me, ever in any effort understand who or what I am? How could I share that with the world?
Whenever reason tells, I ask what truth is. Whenever truth presents itself I ask what it's purpose is.