What is wrong with me? Why am I
so affected by woes expressed in arts? And why cannot I shed a tear when it
comes to my own distresses? Is every little part of me located in someone else,
so that I am obliged to carry the burden of others? Is my existence fragmented,
scattered into tiny sentimental pieces dispersed all over the world? Am I
connected to every pores, genes, atoms of the reality around me? Then why do I
still feel so isolated? As if no one around me is capable of understanding me? As
if.. they do not even attempt to? Why is the demanding task of squeezing the
words out of me left to me, and why do I fail every single time I try to meet
the requirements? Do they not care? Am I useful as someone who listens but
never as someone who is listened to? And even if somebody does want to hear me
talk, why does the act of speaking seem unfeasible, impractical, impossible? Why
am I keep connecting to everyone but noone gets connection to me? Why is this
one-sided like everything I have ever endured? Why do I lock out everyone? How,
how could I break down this shell grown upon me without tearing down my skin? Could..
anyone.. help me?
/2010.06.28. 19:27/