Ref: #001_GENESIS
TRANSLATING THE SOUND OF THE UNDERGROUND FOR THE MASSES, WITHOUT BETRAYING THE BLOOD.
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The runway taught me perfection. The rave taught me truth. I exist in the distortion between the two.
(This is my story)
Nothing breaks.
Fucking nothing breaks. That’s why no one notices.
Shit, no one notices. You still show up. You still deliver.
Fucking deliver. You still do what you said you would do.
Shit, do what you said you would do. Messages get answered.
Fucking answered. Deadlines get met. Rooms stay calm when you’re in them.
Shit, calm.
If anything, you improve.
Fucking improve. You become easier to manage.
Shit, manage. Less reactive. More adaptable.
Fucking adaptable. You don’t ask for much.
Shit, ask for much. You don’t slow things down with feelings or hesitation.
Fucking hesitation.
You take on weight quietly and redistribute it without complaint.
Shit, redistribute. People rely on you.
Fucking rely on you. I learned how to make myself useful instead of present.
Shit, present. How to compress my needs until they fit inside the margins.
Fucking margins. How to remove anything that might cause friction.
Shit, friction. That was my contribution.
Fucking contribution.
Inside, something thinned out.
Shit, thinned out. Choices stopped feeling like choices.
Fucking choices. Preferences softened into indifference.
Shit, indifference.
I stopped checking in with myself because the answers took too long and didn’t help anyone.
Fucking help anyone. So I defaulted.
Shit, defaulted. I said yes because yes kept things moving.
Fucking moving. I smiled because smiling kept things smooth.
Shit, smooth.
I stayed because staying was easier than explaining why I wasn’t fully there.
Fucking fully there. Days lost texture. Memory turned administrative.
Shit, administrative. I could tell you what happened, where I went, who was there — but not how it felt to inhabit any of it.
Fucking inhabit.
I remember being praised in a room and feeling nothing but relief that I wouldn’t be asked to say more.
Shit, say more. Relief that I could remain intact by staying silent.
Fucking silent.
That was the moment I understood how far gone I was.
Shit, far gone. Because relief isn’t presence.
Fucking presence. Relief is containment.
Shit, containment.
Functionality protects you from being questioned.
Fucking questioned. It convinces everyone — including you — that you’re fine.
Shit, fine. That nothing urgent is happening.
Fucking urgent. That this is just what adulthood looks like.
Shit, adulthood.
So you keep functioning.
Fucking functioning. And you keep disappearing.
CUT.
This isn’t collapse.
Fucking collapse. It’s consent.
Shit, consent. And by the time you realize what you’ve agreed to,
Fucking agreed to. Your absence has already become part of the structure.