Capitalistic Life Style

During this last month I took refuge at a local chicken cookery to pay for my up-in-coming novel series that you all should support (link at the end). Working tireless hours, slaving behind the counter to feed the masses leaves me but an empty shell of a human as a plaster the fake smile on what I used to call my face. Am I truly the same species as these things? I stare longing in the mirror to recognize the being that stares back at me, yet every time I look I become more distant. What do I do? Who do I consult? Is this life? The meaning to everything? Who am I? What am I? Questions I know ill never have answered, not because there aren't answers but because ill never ask. I fill my room with belongings because I'm too sacred to be empty and alone. I have not a care of the look but of the comfort it brings to me, to be closed in, surrounded by items I know wont leave, for they are inanimate. I work to by more, to fill more of the emptiness that resides inside of me. This. This is life. But do I wish to live in it?