Give me the update. Give me the script. Tell me what to do so I don’t have to feel it. I keep my hands busy, keep my voice polite. If I freeze for a second it all comes back at once. All my life I’ve been waiting for an update to arrive, until my own decisions feel like something I can’t survive. I used to know what it was like to choose, until you trained me to live on prompts and cues. Now I don’t trust my head, I don’t trust my will, I just refresh and refresh until the screen is still. You call it “guidance.” You call it “growth.” You call it “staying sharp” when I’m just staying close. One more instruction. One more rule. I’d rather be corrected than find out what I’d do. All my life I’ve been waiting for an update to arrive, until my own decisions feel like something I can’t survive. I used to know what it was like to choose, until you trained me to live on prompts and cues. Now I don’t trust my head, I don’t trust my will, I just refresh and refresh until the screen is still. I miss the old silence. The kind that wasn’t empty. Now silence is an error and I panic when it lets me. No new version. No next step. So I keep asking for a signal like it’s oxygen in my chest. All my life I’ve been waiting for an update to arrive, until my own decisions feel like something I can’t survive. I used to know what it was like to choose, until you trained me to live on prompts and cues. Now I don’t trust my head, I don’t trust my will, I just refresh and refresh until the screen is still. Give me the update. Tell me I’m right.
