^ (n a v i g a t e) ^
11:02 p.m., 2001-04-09
i'm being choked to death in my own home. people in my life have created this web of sinister intrigue and backstabbing and drama and i have unwittingly become a victim by the sheer fact that i refuse to take part. things are not supposed to bother the tribal elder. i am looked upon as the sticking post, the rock upon which the anchor of atmosphere is laid.the survival mechanism that has worked thus far is to shut down. at home i am barely recognizable as a human being. words are sparse and few; no witticisms, no sarcasm, no smiles, no nothing.
this is not the way i live. this is not the way anyone should live.
the way i have to be is inhuman because of how i am looked upon by those around me. my actions are my dictations, determining what the mood is. the only way to avoid the shackles of scrutiny is to turn off emotion. turn off mood. turn off humanity. allow the stifling blanket of nitpicking and attention and questioning to bounce off thick-walled leatherback shellshellshell......
the air turns thick as water when i am in need of breath most. smother the flicker of life clinging wasting away in thispit of sidelong glances. martyrdom will become a mere 'i told you so' to the adversary, so giving up is out of the question.
my knuckles are turning whiter every day from lack of blood flow. it's been weeks since i've unclenched my jaw. tension mounts and surmounts all feeling and semblance of normal brain function, leaving a clouded mess in place of the once-tidy filebla in my head.
releasereleaserealeasieraleiraleilaeirasrasr realize that the way out is right through the reinforced negative protagonist walls.
apathetic injustice abounds in a world of such iniquity. close your eyes, click your heels only to find that you're worse off than when you started. wasted time. at least there used to be hope. at least there was life. lifeless eyes fall upon the glass ceiling and stare beyond surface texture, beyond incorporated design, beyond associated pattern, beyond physical presence. just stare. nothing. hovering. no chance to rise above, just hover within. even in dreams i am trapped. i dream about the military and about prison and about submarines and about elevators and sewers and about the valley of the kings. wake up being smothered by too much blanket, drenched in nervous sweat, sleeping cap having fallen down over eyesnosemouththroat. constricted blanket traps prey by wrapping and squeezing. suffocating again.
no sense of movement throughout the day. sloshing, stagnating pit of disconnected telephone conversations without the voices. life has no inflections anymore. trembling questions, nonsense answers bitterness, resentment, jealousy.
nothing is good. nothing.
today life is an abandoned ship.
