i always had a feeling something was there— not like a tumor, more like a devilish little bird, who refrains from my reach— something so invisible yet so nauseatingly glaring red, strobing at times like that annoying light on those fire alarms that alert, “fire! fire!” and you run.
sometimes i think we're friends. yet when i, in and out of sleep, turn to embrace this Thing, i am reminded of how sinister it can be, and perhaps my shame comes from the people instead, but how could i not want to catch it, and gnaw at its bones the way it has mine?
when i ask them if it's there, they scurry off like a scolded dog. this shame, it's contagious. and this Fucking Bird is like a pair of shoes that somehow gets less broken in over time. when i address it, it echoes back. it mocks me, asks me if i would even know who i am without it. what a cruel thing, and no matter how hard i've tried, i can never change my answer.
— “alone, alone in a crowded room”