it's 11:05 pm, on October 27, 2011 - -.

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in the back of my head i've always suspected the reason people like me would be willing to pay their therapist $300 an hour is that it's a set timeframe in which someone is contractually obligated to listen to you speak, without guilt that you're boring them. it doesn't matter if you're boring them, because you're paying them for the service of listening, unlike friends and family, whom you force to listen to you for free.

someone mentioned in an oblique way the other week that i seem to have experienced periods of almost psychotic depression, so intent on hurt and anger and, whatever, that it manifested almost as a psychotic break with emotional reality. i don't disagree, in fact it's probably a more accurate diagnosis than not, but whatever. nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy.

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bruise - June 29, 2015

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