Delusional

Is it just one Big Trauma that did this?

One single event?  Or, maybe..

Maybe is it just a life. A whole life, full of millions of tiny paper cuts that never ever healed (eventually all dams break, right?) to expose the shaking, frail child- the wounded little thing-

a whole life, a series of little traumas in sequential order, all built up, lined up, pushed up with no where to go…

And then, there’s that smell. the Fear. Its funny that no one else seems to understand,

You’re supposed to be scared, you signed a contract the moment you were born, you made a deal with fate – we all did.

You agree to keep living, but you must accept the terms:

You aren’t immune to anything. You are impervious to nothing. At any moment, you may die and everything you gain in this life, you’ll eventually have to lose.

To pretend otherwise should be a crime, to expect the world to be ‘safe’, for things to stay the same – that’s not life.

That’s fucking delusion.

But there you sit, staring at nothing, without realizing that you’re not supposed to merely gaze into the abyss à la Nietzsche; you must actually step into it, because that’s the only place you’ll find relief- when you actually touch the void, smell it, allow it to swallow you, to see past the delusions.

Witnesses for one another, confessions whispered into the void that don’t matter anyway because

Maybe we’re all hypocrites, maybe that’s the only way through life.

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