This is not a cry for help or a cry for attention. Nobody is in imminent danger.
[In fact, this site was glitchy when I wanted to post this, so it is from earlier this week. But nobody was in danger then either.]
If you ever worry about the well-being of a friend or family member [or even an acquaintance], ask them even if it feels uncomfortable. Go by and visit. Give them hugs if they like hugs. Because this is what they hear in their heads from time to time.
“I don't want to be a thing anymore. I want all the reals and unreals to quiet themselves (respectively and respectfully) and just allow me to be a nothing for a bit.
I need to not feel the pressure from you or him or that other one to amount to anything other than the randomness that is truth. I need to just sit and not be for a while. Can someone grant me the One Wish™?
I have tried for so long to just amount to a human being which is capable of existence solely for its own satisfaction and amusement. This isn't a thing is it? This must be one of those lies we are sold. I am less than real and I want to become. But, being pulled in the multitude of directions and being touched by the multitude of hands manipulating my actions, I cannot.
I have made an attempt, and it seems as though I have been doomed to remain unreal and quickly becoming unfit even for the service of the reals.
My reals are suffering and they can't stop letting me know. My reals are suffering and I would give up my becoming if I could fix that. But giving up my becoming hasn't fixed anything. Except the idea in their minds that I am unworthy. And my body has heard and is responding. It is breaking like the mind to which it gives a home. And no singularity approaches (not that this mind would aspire to become real or unreal in digitization of life).
I broke when they tried to simply bend me and they liked the sound that it made; unaware of what the rhythmic snap songs had meant, they continued to play my bones and my synapses like percussives. And here we are, sitting in the middle of an echo chamber of my inadequacies and listening to the breakdown of mind that was never perhaps genius and crazy (certainly) all along.
And I did this.
I did it all.
And we all suffer.
So pray for the reals.
The unreals and the inadequates have lost hope enough to know that prayers be useless.
The reals are yes.
And the yes holds the worth.”