A Collection of Spectacles


when i overexert myself it’s an attempt to push myself towards some unforeseen limit. until my physical sensations match the mental hell. everything is drifting apart. 

pinpoint the root of the problem.

visit the psychotherapist within.

i’m shouting at the doctor down the hall because i’m too docile in life and now i need someone to yell at. but beyond that (the need to display anger just because) is an underlying plea. i’m looking for something to fix it. 

he leads me to the receptacle with my name written on it which is already overflowing with filth because i’m here too often. all he says is “purge.” 

inside me is the want to destroy everything i care about because not everything i care about gives me what i need. i’m going through life cutting and pasting together what i think i want but taking it from different people (a favorable attribute here, a memorable quality there). i can’t handle having my physical needs met by anyone who already meets my emotional ones because if i end up feeling fucked over or slighted then i lose in two respects. it’s not possible to keep emotions “in check” but that’s exactly what i try to do because i feel like if you can control the amount of happiness you feel then you can control the amount of sadness or anger in your life. maybe if i don’t show enthusiasm towards anything then i’ll never end up disappointed. 


if i ever got up the nerve to do a sylvia plath impersonation in your kitchen (if i did it in plain view without shame) i could bet on the fact that you’d do nothing to stop it. LOOK. there’s a bandaid placed on a wound that needs a suture. in retrospect, no, nothing is fixed. now recognize it.

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