Imagine yourself inside of a container.

There is a wall in front of you, one behind, one to your left, and one to your right. Above you a fifth wall, below you a sixth.

Inside this container is everything that’s you—
what drives you, what hurts you, what tempts you, just you.

It’s a place made up of digital journal entries—both felt and written. It’s your place. It’s your space. It’s your hand that decides whether to feed or get bitten.

For a long time, this space belonged to you. It was yours to feel joy, yours to mourn, yours to sit still, yours to be bored. It was a space that no one else entered—unless you invited them in. It was a space that belonged to you. It was a space you could sin.

Somewhere along the way, others began to come in. You don’t remember inviting them, but for some reason they did. You opted into that thing that gave them access. You don’t remember which one, but alas they crept.

They start at the entrance and move their way through—every step in a new direction just getting to know you. As they cover each inch, a how to: make you crave something, make you buy, make you angry, make you cry.

And, one day, when they get to that final square inch, it will all be over. You’ll give up. Not a flinch.

Because right now they’ve seen half your container, you’ve let them through.

Now it’s your decision to keep the tour going.

It’s up to you.

—

Inspired by the H11 project.