Hopeless Helpless Gooner

Who are you? Don’t answer. I’ll tell you. You’re a gooner. That’s your primary identity. You’re not your profession. You’re not your hobbies. You’re not your money, or any of the things you own. You’re not your achievements. All of those thing sound like a foreign language to you. They may as well be, because they’re insignificant, and don’t hold a fucking candle to the might of your gooning obsession. Those things will fade quickly, but your gooner identity is entrenched. It’s buried deep, tangled in your sexuality in such a way that it can never be untied. You can’t quit. You can’t leave. You can’t even cut down or moderate yourself. You can only go deeper. You can only become more obsessed. You’re hopeless. You’re helpless. You’re a fucking gooner.