What kind of belonging do I think I derive from shackling myself to a collective, a hive mind that makes me feel existentially estranged? Or do I attempt to even out that separation by becoming estranged from myself, effectively cutting the tether that produces the deep contrast between myself and the society I am in? How fast of an interval between trying to cut off your life source and your death has there to be for it to be considered a suicide? I’m killing myself slowly because I believe what’s propagated about my kind, about the rogues. I won’t survive. I won’t thrive. I’ll suffer. I won’t be admitted back in again.
I don’t know where these mantras came from. I think they were here when I moved in. Into this body. I dunno. Self-limitation veiled as self-preservation. Genius move. Can’t argue with a triggered amygdala. It’s just like pulling the fire alarm.