this terrible kind of fear, an excitement that is without hope, that awaits only the news of some further grief, failure or humiliation and torture. a lassitude that enters the soul and makes you hope for better things and better work tomorrow, but hope without belief and conviction.
and the anger may be sparked by a particular offense, but underneath the spark lies an arsenal of fear from the threat of disappointment and abandonment.
boredom seems to swell like a balloon inside my head; it becomes a pressure inside the skull; sometimes i fear this balloon will burst and i will lose my reason. particularly when i'm alone, i lose the sensation of existing, of feeling real. marilyn monroe said that without people around her, she would fall into a void, "endless and terrifying".
for most people, solitude is longed for, an opportunity to reflect on memories and matters important to their well-being. but with a weak sense of self, you look back at only vacant reflections.
it's a staircase going neither up or down, we don't move, today is today, always is today.