Aaah rejection, my old friend. Once more I slip you on, like an old, familiar shirt, worn through use and age. I dont care much for this shirt, I feel that a time will soon come where I will have to choose, do I want to wear this shirt forever, or maybe those who make me wear this shirt need to pay, as physics teaches us, for every action there is an equal reaction, and this shirt feels like it is made of lead, and it drags me down, down into the pits of despair. I dont like what lives in those endless caverns, Ive been down there many times, and I have no light to guide me through to the other side. If there is a god, and If I stand before him when I die, I will ask him, "why am I so flawed, why do those around me reject me at every turn?" and he will reply, "my chisels were blunt", and my response will be, "then why did you make so many of me?"