1984

My goal of writing a post every Monday has become a complete failure. What can I say, me and deadlines just don’t mix when it comes to inspiration. I don’t know what is happening to me lately that I can’t get inspired. Maybe it’s because I feel under complete control and words can’t seem to flow through my inner core up to my hands to express the feeling of utter helplessness and fear of simply thinking. That, or I’m simply coming down with a heavy does of seniortis and I have no interest other than Netflix, and that’s not a very good source of inspiration. 

But seriously, I feel straight out of the book 1984 where even having thoughts that are remotely out of line are punished. I can’t have a conversation with someone without being careful with how I word things because I might be taped. Psychological trauma has forced me to think things and say things I wouldn’t say otherwise, to act differently. As I write this post I’m terrified that it might come back to haunt me, but I have to figure out if someone she has found my one true escape. I do realize all this sounds outlandish, straight out of a bad suspense movie, but I can’t help but feel my heart and opinions being mangled by the one person who swore would protect them. Screw healthy formation, if you want someone to follow your set opinion as to how they should act, make them fear their own existence. 

It’s become such a pull on me that I’m afraid to fall in love, because I know no one will ever be good enough, no one will ever bring back the sense of safety that she’s taken away. 

It’s no joke that as I type these words my heart races in utter anxiety that after this post I’ll be annexed from my first amendment right. 

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