It's like recycling. It's taking something old and broken and good-for-nothing, and then crushing it. Because it was never broken enough. And then suddenly it's new again. It's new for a while, but it'll get used. And then someone will need to destroy it further if it ever wants to be new again. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. Reduce, Resist, Relapse.
It's impossible to not be crushed again. It always seems so worth enduring. Because then I'm new again. I'm wanted, and I'm used. And then I get reduced. And that's why it's impossible. Because if I don't crush myself, I'll be old and broken and good-for-nothing forever. But I resist, I do, I try to. Sometimes I spend weeks waiting by the roadside. But it doesn't matter how long the cycle takes. It's still a cycle. And I have to hit the next section at some point. Reduce, Resist, Relapse.
Besides, it's better than being put in a landfill, right? Because this way it keeps every toxic piece of me inside. The alternatives release them to the rest of the world. This version is friendlier to everything around me. I'm the only one who gets hurt. And yet I benefit, too. This keeps me wanted, and usable, and new, and alive. And that's my best option. Because really, there's two cycles. I chose Reduce, Resist, Relapse.
I could've chosen Reduce, Relent, Release.