Trapped Inside Your Outfit, Drinking Your Coffee, Smoking Your Brand

One of the things that’s hardest, living with our family, is not being ourselves. Living with people who don’t know means pretending to be the host. Not even our host anymore. We’re pretending to be a host who retired. Who no longer lays full claim to this body.

We’re pretending to be someone who hardly exists to the outside world. We’re stuck answering to his name.

We’re a homogenized batter, one part each of us and fifty parts pretending to be someone else.

We talk to the internet and we talk to our partners, otherwise we seem dreadfully low on people who call us by our names. Who recognize our little voice changes and our little mannerisms all our own from inside the outer face.

(I just swung a door over my toe and spilled coffee everywhere)

We have no motivation for our own lives, let alone someone else’s. We’re mired down by the things just out of view. The monsters in our periphery keep us at bay.

We belong to dissociation, we’re servants of desire and slaves to pleasing the world around us. We’re losing sight of ourselves to make way for everything we’re supposed to be.

It’s always been this way, i think. We just opened our eyes a little wider. We just stopped to smell the air.

We’ve got only one trail to follow. We have no room to blaze our own. We follow in the footsteps of a man who’s never even learned to walk alone. We fall down into the pitfalls dug by people we don’t remember the faces of.

So do we reduce ourselves to voices? Do we become the concepts society and social standing want us to take up in our arms?

Do we become infallible, simple, do we give up humanity for ease of mind? Is that an option?

I don’t know where this year will take us.

I don’t know where this life will take us.

I just hope by this time next year we all get a little time to be ourselves and stop clawing desperately to keep on living.

Everything tastes like smoke and mirrors around this family. I feel like we’re on thinner ice than we could have ever imagined.

Seven months, 26 days.

[∈Deathborn]

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PS: To anyone in the system reading this again, I found out who has our social security card/where it is. If you need it, ask me.