It is nothing and it is everything.

It is not wanting to be alive.

Yet, not wanting to die.

It is constricted and constructed experience.

It is is a head in vice grips.

It is a heart in boiling water.

It is this nervousness that un-nerves us.

It is feeling too much or not enough or nothing at all.

It is a place where I am dishonest.

It is habitual smiling and chatting.

It is animal flesh on the shelves.

It is constant disappointment.

It is unsurprising disgust.

It is the predicatable atrocities of each day.

It is just that it could never happen to me.

Though somehow it does happen to me, daily.

It is a trauma culture.

It is admitting I am traumatized.

It came so slowly, and so unexpectedly.