I’m feeling like an airplane that is coming apart at the rivets. My insides are swirling in a violent rage and my soul is struggling to contain the chaos.

I’m two days in on a THC fast and my mind doesn’t feel much different except for the lack of cloudy numbness that keeps these thoughts and feelings under control. The herbal remedy provides a release of pressure from behind my right eye and a dulled sense of being.

There’s a chilled, shivering tension in the middle of my back and the outside of my thighs. It cripples me with an overwhelming lack of control. I cannot contain. I am bursting.

I do not feel like I belong here. I do not feel like I am part of this world. I am outside staring in through a window at a world that neither knows I exist nor wants me here. I feel unwelcome, unwanted, and unworthy of being.

When I hear about someone who has “gone too soon” I wonder why it wasn’t me. Their existence feels important and irreplaceable—mine feels like a societal burden.

Although I am not vain enough to believe I am alone in these types of thoughts and feelings, I find myself feeling entirely alone; on a deserted island without anyone looking to find me.

I feel like a means to everyone else’s end. I am paraphernalia that is used and passed around, eventually to be discarded, replaced, or long forgotten and covered in filth.

The cold shiver reverberates through my spine and my body revolts. I feel the empty cold darkness between each bright, pulsing star.

Am I the darkness?
I am surely not the light.
Am I the cold vacuum of space?
I am surely not the warmth.

What is wrong with me and how do I fix it?
I can’t keep on like this. This ain’t living. This is cold, shallow existence. Take me to home—wherever that may be.