A slow walk preceded my surrender. It was not a good surrender. It was not smooth.
There was a heavy gas full of sludge from the old steel pipes and it wilted my innards.
I sat down. I watched my empty plate, wondering why the surrender was so slow. I sat back in my chair and I felt my insides dripping into my tennis shoes. I picked up a blue, plastic cup, needing to drink slowly because my hand was shaking.
I want to be worthy of my sufferings, but I have no self-worth despite a sharp attempt at a positive self-awareness.
I was kicked a lot today, just like that poor frightened dog that I met at the shelter. Getting kicked should not diminish my value, but that is what I’ve witnessed, and my shoes were filled with the rotten innards, the distasteful, diseased cells of a madman.
I’m desperate to rise above this asinine victimhood, to have meaning in positive contribution to a good thing somewhere in my world, but I sit here without initiative, without the will to move.
stillfugue 
#1 by adlrel on September 25, 2011 - 4:39 am
You can write in away that touches the soul of not just me, but others I know. Maybe that is the reason you are here.
#2 by Carl on September 27, 2011 - 11:38 pm
Thank you for your comment. Writing is such a wonderful outlet. Maybe it is a purpose.
#3 by Indigo Spider on September 25, 2011 - 10:47 am
I agree with Adlrl, you touch my soul as well which to me means you have a purpose, whether you want to accept that truth or not, and you make positive contributions already. Perhaps your sufferings are not worthy of you, after all, they say the insecure pull others down, so perhaps your sufferings are insecure, knowing they are unworthy, and drag you down. OK, I’m rambling like my old shrink! I guess that happens because I can always identify strongly with your words that it feels personal.
#4 by Carl on September 27, 2011 - 11:39 pm
Thank you so much for your comment…I love therapy in the comments! 🙂