I just turned off the mood regulator in my car. No more injections for me today what with the peaks of anger and valleys of anxiety being fairly predictable lately. Blame it on my ability to travel back in time and pinpoint exactly the hurt and the pain down to their smell and location. It’s this emotional thinking that hinders my performance. This moment right here requires far more bravery than I can currently master so I play it safe and let behavioral rituals take over.
Performance, ah! Father’s magic word, but now that he’s gone, my boss seems to have picked up le manteau, but he’s in for a surprise. You see, I have never had it out with Father so I just can’t wait for the boss to make me reach critical levels of anger to throw an apple pie to his face.
I know a girl who brought summer with her wherever how she went. Thinking I would find it in her apartment, I broke in to find out how she did it. Needless to say I was way out of my depths because I realized that my scent was all over the place and I had come home finally. I spread myself on her couch, my face beaming and left terrestrial time zones for the divine ones.
I only returned when I heard someone at the door searching for keys and I scrambled out of there as quick as possible.
V. had spring in her walk and sometimes winter in her eyes especially when I mishandled her heart because I had convinced myself that I was bad for her. For me. For everyone. But she had an amazing knack for self-preservation. Just as I was about to make her stay in hell with me, she escaped back to what kept her light and shiny. How could she stay bright year in and out? With or without me?
I don’t know how long I have vacillated and swung between self-harm and altruism, alternating between heights of blissful love and depths of self-loathing but I’m still around; at least the few bits of me that keep bringing V. back in my life. I still pray and hope she will never find out le connard que je suis.