What is wrong with you, anyway?

A popular question to which any answers I offer will never suffice.

Where to start?

* The sense that nothing is what I want it to be.
* The sense that I cannot change what I want, meaning disappointment will continue to define my perspective on everything.
* The sense that all that glitters is an elaborate forgery.
* The knowledge that all actions are ultimately futile.
* The supreme dissatisfaction in knowing those whose care & comfort would mean so much to me will never offer it.
* The pain from previous traumas that still traces everything. Memories that won’t fade, questions that fail to resolve themselves.
* The unfair reality that A Certain Guilty Party still freely exists, unencumbered by consequence. It tears me apart.
* The facades we adopt to play a role in an industry where surface depth is the only yardstick by which we measure.
* The hollowness of little victories. The echo of your name fading. The entitled expectations, the failure to adhere to any code of civility if it’s not convenient.
* The merciless march of time and its insensitivity to your own routine.
* The inability to admit you’re breaking. The shame in letting feelings persist.
* The crisis that follows when your best chances have gone to seed.

and more than anything…

* The irrevocable horror of learning you are really alone in a war that no one will acknowledge that you battle everyday. The recognition that it is a struggle you are destined to fail. The statistics that indicate time is running out, hope wearing thin. The helplessness in bearing witness to your own suffering: watching illusions turn to nightmares and allies recede into indifference.

Final Stage: The Anathema.