The world is a dreadful and dreary place, and I tread along it insomuch as it is necessary. It is often needed
for me to tread it; I do not as much as I can, but if something is to occur (and it often does) I will be out
within a heartbeat. It is so hard to find a good soul. There is no such thing as a pure soul. Those are works
of fiction, and so I do not seek or expect pure souls outside of fantasy, but to find a soul that is good is
very rare and must be cherished when it is found. I, myself, am not a good soul. I strive to protect, but not
to better. I am alright living within my own cage of protection, to not communicate, to hide away. It feels
that hiding is the best option. Some people think that makes us, all of us Shirleys, dreadful. They think it
is dreadful when we hide. Perhaps it is dreadful to them, but it is beneficial to us. Social as some Shirleys
may be, at the end of the day, we are unsocialized, wild things. This world failed. You can try to teach us
all, so late in life, how to exist in society. Will we ever truly belong to it? In our hearts, we're still there
always. The screaming doesn't stop; the pain doesn't stop; there's yelling in our ears always; images burned
on the back of our eyelids, in the back of our skulls. We are always there still. In our head, despite our
outward conditions, we never left. We never became free. The world is cruel, and freedom cannot be found in
it. It must be pulled out, hard and tough, from within. And it will hurt. It will hurt inside of you and
around you. To feel attached and to love is a foreign tongue to us Shirleys. How do you plan to teach us after
all these years? When all attempts at learning end in hurt, what is the worth? I want to protect; I don't want
Shirleys in harm's way. What is the point of learning this foreign tongue? I think it is my destiny, at least,
to be forever on the outside, crying on the outskirts of the world. I am in eternal mourning. All I do is mourn.
The world is a truly dreadful place to exist in. At any given moment, everything can turn against you. The earth
can turn aganst you, as can the skies, as can nature. Other people can turn against you, distributing abuse. You
can turn against you; you can become bitter with self-hatred. Your mind can turn against you. Your body, the very
vessel that carries you, can turn against you. How much of this is fiction, and how much of it is not? You won't
know; it is of no matter to you. Please, I beg of thee: leave the Shirleys alone. We are tired enough. I am tired
enough. Please, I beg: leave the Shirleys alone. That doesn't stop the world from turning against the Shirleys.
That doesn't stop the Shirleys from turning against themselves. I despise living in this world, but to kill one
Shirley is to kill us all, and so I must remain. I am chronically miserable with only seconds of relief. Woe upon
me, Shirley Sadsack, the cursed one. She shall never know happiness no matter how hard she tries. I have tried,
and I have found myself disappointed. I have tried, and I have found myself in great trouble. I have tried, and
I have failed to be happy time and time again. I am the cursed one. The sun does not shine for me. We destroy
ourselves. No one else is at fault for our most recent failure. It was all us Shirleys. I want this world to go
away. I want to go away from the world. I was not built for it, and I will always be miserable within it. The pain
goes on without closure. The pain goes on everlastingly. I hate living. I crave to decay in the mud.
The world remains cruel and unforigiving. The things one must do to survive are debasing. The human race is, by
and large, vapid. All this world does is chew up and spit out. It is so tiring. I am so tired.
I am not feeling well. Every day I pack a box when I can. I pack a box because us Shirleys will be leaving soon.
I pack a box because we will be, again, uprooted and taken elsewhere. This time there is no extreme change, and
I wonder if that is a good or bad thing. Something that grows unchecked is a tumor, I have heard, but yet there
is also an expectation of growth. I have matured; that is true. Have I grown? I cannot tell. I am trying with
little baby steps. I am trying, shoving food in my mouth through tears because I hate to consume it though
need to. I am trying, dressing myself and trying to find peace in the mirror though I loathe a healthy weight.
I am trying my very hardest. It is all so complicated, and I am still so sad. I do my best to be a happier and
healthier person. I am very tired, and it is always hard to keep up with everything. Us Shirleys will never
function like the rest of them, no. We will not live as vibrantly as others. We have been told it before. We
have been told before that our ailment, our Shirleyness, is quite permanent. We have tried our hardest to rid
it outright and it continues to persist. It is sometimes a challenge not to give in competely and utterly.
I want the happiest life possible for us Shirleys. I am nervous that we may not be able to get there, but I
think I have options should push come to shove. Us Shirleys are blessed with our watchers. I wonder: would us
Shirleys be here still without them? It is a pointless, unanswerable question. Do you remember being held down
and do you remember the quiet room? Do you remember the knock-out drugs? Do you remember the screaming and crying
and you just had to sleep through it, pretend it wasn't there? I often feel doomed. I will try to make the very
best of life. I hope I am successful.
Life goes on. The earth rotates. We Shirleys do not turn with it. We Shirleys are stuck. We Shirleys have no way
out. I wish us Shirleys were just allowed to leave. I wish, at least, that I could leave. There is no place in
world for me. There is no love to be found here. Why must I remain? This realm is a curse. I am a curse. I am
a curse, and I am cursed. I wish this sickness would take its natural course already. This despair is too much.
They tell me: "Sadsack, just hold on."
I have been holding on for so long now.
They tell me: "Sadsack, just be strong."
I have been strong for so long now.
The world has sharp teeth that cut and drag and tear.
I am feral and pathetic and gross.
I turn my stomach and I turn everyone else's.
I can accept no genuine care. I turn and run.
Turn off the light forever.
and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone. and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone.
and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone. and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone.
and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone. and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone.
and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone. and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone.
I am gone.
There is a giant hole in my heart that will never and can never be filled. It's all just a fantasy, the idea
that anything could feel okay after it all. I understand the desperation. I understand the need to believe.
Do you want to live with this? Would you want it to be so? I am afraid the wounds made upon our flesh and
soul are too deep to be reversed. The world cares not for us. What do we owe it? Not that we really have
much fight left in us, nor the desire to do anything but hide like prey from predator. They say: "Oh,
Sadsack, it isn't your fault." Does it matter? It's useless and pointless, whether it was my fault
or their fault or this god's fault or that god's fault or his or her or its or any of it. I don't
care about that. I care about the feeling of agony all over my body, the touch sensations that
come back over and over without relief. I care about the emotions that won't stay in their proper
time and place, turning me into a laughingstock in day to day conversation. I care about the
ways in which we have been permanently altered for the worse, the ways in which we will never
be like the rest, the ways in which we are incredibly, and noticeably, made lesser. No blame
on anyone will change that.
This all feels so hopeless.
and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone. and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone.
and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone. and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone.
and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone. and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone.
and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone. and you can try to talk to me, but I am already gone.
Please, for fuck's sake, leave me the fuck alone.
Finally.