Post Climatic Stress Disorder

I can build anything having to do with me into drama.

I'm done beating myself up, and am just lying around hurt, not even bothering to lick my wounds. I'm feeling sorry for myself, of course, concentrating on the past instead of embracing the future, and doing everything I can to brand myself as "unique" or "special." I have no patience, and nothing to be patient for.

My life is unwinding now, spilling out like the intestines of a Seppuku practitioneer, in slow motion. I watch it, distanced, without interest, neither caring nor alarmed. I'm not bored by it, nor by anything in it, but what's happening is all stuff outside of my control, and gravity more than intention, decides everything.

I make a difficult patient, I'm sure of it.

I claim to enjoy simplicity, but demand much that is outside normalcy.

I rebuff those who want to give to me, watch that coil spill to the floor at my feet, and work on making it their fault.

I do, so, want things.

I want to cry, want to summon purging tears over my recent losses, but need to be strong and decent and act as adult as expected. Growing up would solve my problems, as would being decent. There's no way I could barf up everything inside me, no matter how much I may want to do that. And, even in that process, instead of wondrous objects of horror I'd find laughably small nuggets, for nothing I obsess about is anything anyone else would even notice.

I so would like to have everyone else's perspective on things, a rational, realistic one.