I feel a deep, visceral, gnawing sensation. I’ve avoided social contact for so long that I really have only three friends. One I’ve never met. Another I’m not very close to. The last moved off to college—several hours away.
My family does not understand me. Under the pretense that they “only want what’s best for me”, they try to control me, forcing me to do things the right way—their way. They do not even give me the courtesy of a leash. These grievances have driven wedge after wedge between us, until now: the point when I feel not at all like a person, but property. I am not a slave. Perhaps being a pet is a fate worse than slavery.
The emptiness that consumes me is bitter. It is a small weight that grows heavier, heavier, heavier with time, and it does not take long before it becomes unbearable. I yearn to connect with someone, but I see no way to go about it. I always say I have no time. It is true. I fill all my days, giving myself no time to dwell on my life. No time to think. To feel.
Unbearable.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Draft Three
I feel a deep, visceral, gnawing sensation. I’ve avoided social contact for so long that I really have only three friends. One I’ve never met. Another I’m not all that close to. The last moved off to college several hours away.
My family tends to misunderstand me, and they try to control me, forcing me to do what they believe is right. This has driven a wedge between us, so I’m not even close with them. The emptiness that consumes me is an unavoidable, unfamiliar longing to connect with someone, yet it’s also a feeling that I experience often. I do my best to avoid dwelling. Feeling. Thinking.
Each thought is too much to bear.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Draft Two
The longing I feel to connect with someone is a deep, visceral, gnawing sensation that corrodes the façades that I’ve constructed to protect myself from a lack of social contact. But there is no escape from this emptiness, full of self-doubt and pity. It consumes me. An empty shell is left behind, a hollow stone into which I crawl to avoid these thoughts and feelings.
Each thought hurts too much to bear.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Draft One
Time and again I feel a longing to connect with someone. It's a deep, visceral gnawing sensation, eating away at the façades that I've built up around me. There is no escape from it; this emptiness, full of self-doubt and -pity, consumes me. Only an empty shell is left behind, a hollow stone into which I crawl to avoid thinking about it.
Because each thought hurts too much to bear.