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Dear... whoever is listening

Is it weird that I went searching online for a place to type out these feelings? It feels the early 2000s again. My CPU should be overheating. Bruno Mars and Avril Lavigne should be the only songs on my 2G phone. Who even is going to read this?

Well, here goes. Hello, I’m a cat. It’s similar to my alias so let’s go with that. As a young cat I was always worried about being normal. Understanding people, being good and not deviating, so, it’s weird to be a grown-ish cat and still struggling to find normalcy. Maybe its a symptom of the times, or perhaps I never truly sought help to be normal, but I can’t seem to find any answers.

There is this weird desire to just run, maybe I’ll become one of those street cats (nope, too much of a goody 2 shoes). I can’t seem to put the pain into words. It’s suffocating. When Caruth talks about trauma, I can understand what she means, even if what I’m facing is not a trauma. At least to me. It’s weird how I can intellectualise and explain away my feelings.

I guess Descartes wasn’t kidding with the whole mind-body dualism. My body is drowning while my mind pretends to not feel it.

It’s 10.42pm here. Where in the world am I? What will become of my cat ears and tail tomorrow?

I wish I could hear a story. Not one to the world. But one to me. From a stranger to a stranger.
It’s relieving to be anonymous. Not because I can absolve myself from responsibility, but because I can become the other, maybe not what Levinas means but a close resemblance of his idea.

So, if you wish to be heard, feel free to write back. find the words to speak, before time ceases to be.

FROM…. a small cat who writes

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