My thoughts imprison me as surely as four walls could ever imprison anyone. They press down upon me and I fear they have shaped my destiny in stone. I struggle in vain, I know they will win, these thoughts poison my thoughts, I cannot fight back, I will surely lose. I give up, and in so doing, feed them, strengthen them. They become irresistible. Frankl won.
I feel as if everyone else is having a ball of a time except me. That there must be something fundamentally wrong with me. So I try to hide inside myself. Hunch into myself, as if it was possible to disappear if I bent double hard enough. I feel separation, self-imposed separation, pushing everyone away because I want them closer, but they must be kept away because I am wrong. Something is wrong. Something is eating me. I am a wreck. A ship at sea. Drifting is a vice. I cannot look at myself sometimes.
September 18, 2007

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