I should expect no pity from the voices that explain, define, delineate and supervise who I am supposed to be. And from you, my partner in crime and love and violence and action, I should expect no sympathy. If I claim frustration, I make my own disillusionment so.

I promise I can be stronger than that. I will not cry that it is not fair. I will confess the mess I made and blame no man, no woman, and no child. I will apologize for all the promises I failed to make good on as a prerequisite for renting this space. I will admit to the indignation in my head and my heart without blaming them on the loud voice, such loud voices, that have been targeting me like a missile since the day I learned to understand speech. This bittersweet relationship exists because I let it. These insults would not exist without my ears to hear them. These words would not be insults if I had the mind to make them otherwise. On occassion I hear challenge, but mostly I hear white noise, things that are bad for me and bad for my friends, that I have to tune out and it seems I missed what you meant to say while trying in vain to protect myself from the demons I imagined into being when they passed me a mind virus that I was only allowed to recognize once I had the tools to take over hurting myself. I am doing a great goddamn job, I am all the things I was instructed to be, except when I am not and on those days I am so lost, you might call it freedom but it hurts, and that is the way that makes most people the happiest.