With the speed of a gun...

My life is noise. Every day, a new sound adds itself to my thinking, and it makes my ears ring louder. It's cyclic and perpetual... and isolating. Because, no matter what I try to release, I'm the one who has to fall asleep every night, listening to this painfully loud static.

It comes in lurches. The more I try to rationalize, the more chaotic it becomes. Every emotion I release leaves two more trapped inside of me. It's getting to the point where I'm not even sure who I am or what I mean to myself. I am just a ceaseless Ouraboros of objective cynicism. A conundrum and a contradiction, a worthless waste of time... My own antithesis.

I have never found a way to make anyone else understand this single demon, the plague that reigns over every other. Everything important falls right through the cracks. I'm sure it's my fault. But why bother in the first place? I'll just start all over again.

And when I think about this, my mind goes blank. I don't know what to write... because I don't know the name of this beast. I think about how the world tricks me, uses me, takes advantage of my tunnelvision, takes everything from me in the most demeaning manner. How do I fight back against my own basic inadequacies? How do I patch holes that I can't even locate? Am I supposed to simply see all of this as proof that my mind has become a structure of neurosis and insane anxiety?

Does another person think less of me if I say these things so surely, as if I'm confident in my own madness? It isn't empowering or lifting... it's very frightening. I'd like some help, but I get a periodic smack in the face that reminds me that when everything settles... it's me against the rest of the world.