Reclaim.

No one had been prepared.

Been held up in an odd slump, depression of a high caliber. No chance to compare my ideas alongside my peers, simply been running place to place and holding on as much as I can of the ideas I had in my head of someone I could be; this human has only been an imaginary breeze passing through my mind on occasion, and I am pained to reconcile how much I had planned on being, alongside how much I seem to lose as I progress to no place, again and again.

So I am on board, laying and lounging in the same bed I hardly rose from a number of hours ago. Only meal so far has been peanuts, fried onion flakes, and maple syrup; which I am becoming fond of drinking directly. A pomodoro timer runs in the background to re-animate my old time trial writer's conditioning; 45 minutes, and a good portion of that has been squandered in a redeployment of the domain.

Email is online again, happily so. I consider that if I do indeed approach daily writing and publication, I am in a long slog to reach a position I am happy in. Much of this is going to be an exercise in shedding my self-disparagement, and reclaiming a notion of direction in expressing my ideas. This is in a sense a really public mirror I can hold up, images of my psyche I can replay in timelapse, or record as audio someday once I become ready enough.

I used to do an hour of writing each day, simply to see how much I had to say. Is cheap amusement, in the end. No drugs needed, and there is a similar dissociation that accompanies the dropping of the normal inhibitions and speaking one's mind properly.

I lost the habit nearly as soon as I had picked it up, and has been a decade of mind's silence since, only echoed in the logically shaped expressions of coding languages.

Although, I also imagine nothing is nearly so healthy or healing a process as the organization of ideas; such ideas can become a laboring pressure pushing one's mind to explosion, or a calm push of air, forming sound in the passages it obeys, the channels traced to a desirable conclusion. Since coughing up the smoke in my lungs in months prior, I am happy to embrace another daily occupation for my mind, clearing up the concerns and crises that plague me and cloud my happiness from meaningful perception.

Animation has been encouraging me, and I can occasionally bring pen to paper, although the daunting scope of such an aim brings me to despair before I can begin. My only recourse is to place myself and my notebook surround by many peers, where I am sure to hear encouragement. This leads me to a challenge when I am lonesome, the precise moments that I need the expression most; I am endlessly silenced from digging up self-praise, and can hardly encourage any progress I make, whether recognized or no; my skills are simply drops in an ocean I am unable to raise my submerged head from.

And my peers also gasp for air, being held under the same surface, rapidly solidifying as an unbreakable blockade of ice. I need to reach them, to hold them, to share the small places of warmth that can only endure by coalescence.

Small chance, no? Could be our only chance.

I'd like to be able to rise up among people, to say, "Brace!" You can hold up. You can endure, and succeed, and begin again to reclaim your place, our place, our common ideals and cause. Only all of us have become so shaken, such a resounding quake coming from people close to us on all sides, saying "you belong in hell", and "good riddance", and "who needs you", and "need not apply".

Alas, I do need apply. People all around are demanding I lose, and I am unable to succeed in doing so. There is no need for me to gain, simply to endure. Simply to reclaim and re-hold and replace the image of me I am so inspired by. I can do so much, and if I need not apply then there is no need for me to do anything. Hence I can do nothing; how then can I do anything? How can I claim to be animal unless animated? How can I claim to be conscious unless I add to the public consciousness? How can I claim to be sensible unless I propose and publish common sense?

So here goes, again, enduring and encouraging endurance, if this be the only recourse from application, then I am going to embrace my many skills of endurance. I can polish and sharpen my mind as I do a blade, and learn the motions necessary to impress upon people the sincere idea that I do need apply; for your sake more than mine, and for our sake as a plural people more than my sake as a singular.