What’s It Like?

I wonder what it’s like not to hurt.
What’s it like to wake up and be glad that you did instead of being heartbroken that you did?

I don’t want to be here. Life feels like a prison. I’m being punished. Existence is a punishment. I have a life sentence. No possibility of parole. No rock hammer. No poster. Just an endless stretch in Shawshank, getting fucked by Boggs.

What’s it like to be glad you woke up, instead of filled with choking sorrow that you did? What’s it like to blissfully greet another day, to be grateful morning’s come? What kind of sado masochist do you have to be to enjoy this relentless torture?

What’s it like not to long to have someone love you enough to help you die? To help you escape.

What’s it like to be pain free and hopeful and all peachy and rose tinted? What’s it like to have been strong enough that life didn’t break you and make you jaded and cynical?

What’s it like?

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I Don’t Belong Here

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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.