Here I am again, crushed beneath certain forces that conspire to turn me into a statistic, a dollar sign, a commodity of capitalism. I resent it, but I don’t know how to leave it. I don’t know how to wrest myself from the jaws of a beast that is slowly killing me, mostly because I don’t know who I’ll be or what I’ll do if I leave this place. I am afraid that leaving this place will change me, and what if I don’t like myself when I am a woman unchained? What if the small pleasures that they give me are the things that define me? What if, without these crutches, I still fall?
I am afraid to leave because I do not know the language of leaving. I do not know how to speak or eat or shit or sleep in a world that doesn’t tell me what to do. What if I leave,k and suddenly I am a human and not an object? What then? I have made my life on being an object – to be anything less than that, or anything more…it is a task I do not know how to accomplish. I am looking into the face of a guaranteed failure. I will have to learn how to be a new me. What if I do not like the new me.
It is better for me to suffer here, where I know my place, and I know myself, even if I loathe it all. The risk of freedom is too great. The comfort of pain will suffice for now.