…I haven’t been able to get this out of my head since I read it. Even if it isn’t intentional, I can’t stop thinking about this as metaphor. The imagery is so potent.
It’s the sunk cost fallacy in the most visceral of terms. It’s what the toxic home you come back every day takes from you; or the job that’s slowly killing you. It’s what you need to get by in the short-term, that kills you in the long-term. It is exactly what you’re afraid your depression will turn you into. Your fear of aging. Aimlessness in the wake of grief.
That you might have lost sight and you don’t even know it yet—and by the time you realize it, it’s too late.
It’s a visceral reminder that if you don’t stand up for yourself and make your own decisions, they’ll be made for you.
The suit has to hurt you to help you. Is that even helping?
(When does support become enabling? This will kill the suit too, eventually.)
A warning of burnout—that shambling forward past the point of exhaustion has dangers. You will stray so far from your original vision, make so many concessions in the name of progress, that you might not even recognize what you’ve made. Was it what you wanted?
At what point does determination become delusion? When does endurance become mindless suffering?
When do you wake up and turn around?
…What if you can’t anymore?