My ability to once show myself as an idea is now like looking into a lens with oil over it. I’m disgusted. I no longer know who I am. Trying to speak is like swallowing glass and the longer I am silent the more I can feel each shard digging its way out from inside of my skin so that instead of my thoughts all you will end up seeing is the glass and you will have no idea what broke. I feel like glass. I don’t hear the shatter and I don’t see the explosion of pieces flying outwards from the point of impact, all I see is grey. When I sleep I dream of loud noises coming from myself and situations that taunt me and dangle in front of me like a juicy fucking steak in front of a treadmill. It’s unhealthy. It was never about makeup it was about ideas and I just want to reacquire the language that I lost and left scattered to be stepped on and made to be something dirty that I’m ashamed to fucking look at. Fear is stronger than a lot of my emotions, I find. But I wonder if anger is stronger.