I haven’t felt this feeling in damn near 20 years. There’s a sickening, demeaning nag pulling me towards the corners of my mind—the corners I’ve actively worked hard to avoid. It’s forcing me to face it. I can smell that fire again. I can feel the ASH on my face. I hate this shit so much, but I keep dragging myself closer to it…to its familiar embers…like a masochist, enjoying its warmth on the scars it left me with before.

It’s my downfall all over again. That absent staring into the void, the b-roll of past conversations I’ve tried to purge from memory, that feeling of fucking failure…it’s all back.

Imposter syndrome would be much more enjoyable if it just killed me. I get it. I swear I get it. It’s not enough. I’m not enough. I was never enough. And there’s no way beyond that point. There are no other answers beyond the pari signo. It’s a simple answer for an even simpler equation.

These wounds just healed, and here you go, the all consuming fire, coming to cover me with ASH and choke me out all over again.

This time, just don’t leave anything behind. Burn all of me this time…completely…please?