just the same manifestation or whatever.

There is nothing defiant in the resounding slap of my battered notebook against that honey-wood floor. Nothing. It embodies all the confusion within me, the echo ringing mockingly in my ears, sneering-

This is what you have become. Don't you see how disgustingly pathetic you are? You don't even know what you're saying... Empty. Everything you say is empty.

I cringe at my own weakness as I begin to read.