I sit, legs crossed

I sit, legs crossed, staring forward while music washes over me. I look around my room, decorated with my glorious commodities; a shrine to modern living. My only pleasures are temporary. I have no meaning, no place; I am unimportant to the point of non-existence.

My middle-class rebellion. I want to destroy something, tear something down. Tear it all down, but I can’t.
I want to escape, but am too afraid.
I want to cry for help, but am too ashamed.
I want to shout, kick, scream, but I can’t. What is wrong with me?
I am caught between self-loathing and self-love. Never in the middle, but swinging between. From extreme to extreme.
I was annoyed. I was angry. Now I just despair. I despair for myself, I despair for humanity.

But I will pretend and I will carry on living my empty life and collect my empty possessions and join the rest of our empty species in their empty lives. I will pretend.

Help me.

I am lost. I am so lost