Gut level, below it all. Out of duty - just here. Feeling like a knife's being twisted in the hole of how it is. False hope, an inch of pride that died when I left to hide from non stop battering of conditioned opinion. Rest a**ured but not a**ured, all is well, but I think we've dealt with the fear for far too long. Unborn suffer the norm. Born to this - I think not! I stand against till the sh** drops. We see all but do nothing, in the hole of "How it is".