This kind of pleading is incredibly manipulative, but sometimes what I know I should say and what my sad, desperate brain is screaming at me are incredibly at odds. Sometimes the only way to get the lying, cloying voice to be silent is to give it a voice, even if just for a few moments.
The last time I tried medication to help me with my struggles, the results were less than inspiring.
I’m hopeful that this time I can find some relief without side effects that can cause the cure to be worse than the disease.
Even as an extrovert, I need my moments of peace. My life and my living situation make those few and far between.
Escaping from moments where I am happy means that it’s time for things to change. Things will change.
This isn’t fiction: The protagonist’s actions are not assumed to be correct or commendable. I am not advocating my behavior, simply documenting it.
When I get an eye exam, I want to tell the optometrist that I can see better, even when I can’t based on the inflection I hear in their voice. I can tell when they want it to be better, so I don’t want to disappoint them.
I do the same thing with therapists sometimes. A good one can see me doing it and call me out. A bad one will just act like a cheerleader and tell me how well I’m doing.
I am so aware of not using my size to intimidate people that sometimes I’m actually unaware of it.
Until some tiny hipster who failed to yield for an emergency vehicle hits my car and then gets out of his car being all defensive, I guess.
I continue to be dramatic and idealistic.
Also, I’ve been reading a lot of Bernie Wrightson comics lately. I think it shows here.
Physician, heal thyself.
“I’m too scared to face this.”
“I’m too weak to face this.”
Lies that are very easy to believe.
Dreams can speak volumes.