One of my favourite films is The Shawshank Redemption. Near the beginning of the film, the “fresh fish” are brought to the prison. Fresh fish is prison slang for new inmates.
As the cold bars clang shut and the night falls with darkness and everything in the darkness, the hardened old-timers make bets as to which one of the new fish will cry out first. My heart aches, resonating and relating, as one of the latest arrivals to Shawshank finally cries out. “You don’t understand!”, he bawls, “I’m not supposed to be here!”
Not supposed to be here. This prison. This “life”. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m too weak to take it up the ass. I don’t fit into any of the gangs. And, the only way out for me will be in a body bag.
I feel alone. I reach out, but it is the intense me who gets too attached that reaches out. Rejection hurts, even when I know I’d reject myself.
I feel I am an anomaly. There’s no place for me here, because I was a mistake, a glitch.
I’m so tired.