Feelings are Elusive.

Feelings are not stories we tell ourselves but sometimes stories we tell ourselves are mistaken for feelings.

Feelings can’t speak for themselves, or, feelings are a language we don’t understand, or can’t hear.

Feelings tell us when our Will runs counter to our Needs. Feelings tell us when we are wounded.

There is a Tyrant within us. Feelings are not the Tyrant.

I think my brain is cracking. I think my mind is melting. I think.

I’m afraid to look in the mirror. I can’t face myself. All I want is to scream. But I can’t scream.

Surface conditions belie troubled interior.

I was looking for a genteel and decorous method of screaming. I didn’t want to make a scene or inflate the value or degree of my own suffering, such as it is.

To simply fade away, gradually and imperceptibly, without troubling anyone, until one is utterly invisible, and nobody really notices, that, perhaps, would be best.

And then, if anyone, by chance, were to notice one’s absence, he, or she, would have already become accustomed to it.

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