The echoes of my mind

I am sitting in the university bookstore, reading a Christian Bale article in GQ. A song comes on, the one from midnight cowboy, and I look up: the dark wood paneling, the impenetrable mass of new novels, a picture of a blond woman in a sari, the fat black looking at fat black pussies in FHM and shaking his head, where the fuck am I? What the hell is this place I am trapped in? How did culture and life and tomfoolery encircle me so much that I thought it was real?
I'm sitting in the dining halls. I am a sea, surrounded by islands of shining metal. Have I ever been what others think I am? Every once in a while I leave the world of living matters, and human beings no longer affect my universe. I am a total isolation. How can I tell him to get out of my life, when I obviously don't have one? I am a complete nothingness, can't you tell?

You think this is fun?

Do you think it's fun for me to leave New York, after I finally established my own social network, to come live in Arkansas with my recovering alcoholic mother and and an irate teenager? You think I like it here? Why would I? What the fuck am I doing to myself here? Why do I subject myself to this? To make it easier on my mom by being the disciplinary figure with my sister? To make it easier on my sister to hate me instead of my mom? You should hear the way she explodes at me, for like 5 minutes, after I say one word, after I ask her to speak to me in a kind voice. She just keeps going, and going, depleting my sense of myself as a human being, yelling, veins popping with misdirected anger. And I just take it. I just keep my cool and say that its really hurting me, and then she gets really mad and slams the door. What the fuck am I doing here? Why am I the one who gets on to her about eating a mashed potato sandwhich, when my mom buys her Braums meals with Milkshakes three nights a week? What the fuck am I doing? This is so stupid of me to even be here. How else did I think it was going to work out? Why can't I confront my mother about this stuff? Because I know she won't follow through? Jesus. I am such a sick individual.