There's a limit for anyone.
A limit to the cold before hyopthermia sets in.
Like Nina Simone says, although reworded, 'love her or don't', eh?
Or like the old song, "Try a little tenderness".
Without that, what the hell is there?
Nothing but frostbite.

My mom didn't like cooking the fish dad caught, so she'd leave it in the damp, dark freezer until she could say "Oh, too bad... it's freezerburned" and throw it away.

I feel like I'm just waiting in a tiny dark space until it's time for me to be tossed in the garbage.
I honestly can't handle it anymore.
I'm crumbling inside and can feel the crackle on my skin, but I'm never taken out and thawed for use. I'm just not appealing enough for the hassle. Like dad's bluegill fillets were to mom.

I've hit my limit. I can't handle it another day. I hardly feel human anymore.