Mute. Rendered direc­tion­less. My brain resists, caught in circu­lar argu­ment. Just below the surface I am scream­ing. Raw, unin­tel­li­gi­ble noise. Pain, fear, anger? I can’t tell. I keep it trapped inside. Outside I am silent.Familiar actions provoke famil­iar programmed responses. Even if they were to look they couldn’t tell. I’ve been doing this for too long. The mask is perfect.The noise is constant, tugging at my atten­tion, sapping my energy. I can hear it through the silence.I just want it to stop.

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  • Eerily famil­iar. I have to find ways to release that kind of energy or I find myself blow­ing up my real­ity, which is usually quite incon­ve­nient. You phrase it so eloquently … poetry that doesn’t need to rhyme. Can we put that to music? It would be a great song. I hope you find your­self fantas­ti­cally flying forward toward your future again soon.

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