I hate to admit it to myself, but I did enjoy some aspects of the years I spent under your yoke, you predictable algorithm. Those years of anonymity, of relative normality. To rid myself of the shame, all I had to do was disappear. To erase myself from the world, as I did to join you. I thought that by stepping out of the margins, by bending to your will, I was buying myself safety. But surviving is not the same as living. My survival killed me slowly. I’m not made for the shadows.
