Friday
Sponsor
but if one really wants to get better, they can make a choice as hard as it may be to not hold anything back.
I'm durn near compulsively honest. Correction. I get compulsively honest. It comes and goes. Most of the time I can lie, I just prefer not to. That doesn't actually make talking about shit any easier. As in I cannot physically make myself talk about certain things. The more I try, the more my entire body rebels. Puking, shaking, panic attacks, completely blanked mind, all on top of some rather spectacular SI, and other fun adventures in the land of seriously out of my goddamned mind. About the only -consistent- end run I've ever figured out around this is to piss me off to the point that I'm nose to nose shouting about it, and about a molecule away from breaking someone's nose rather than shout about it. Vexing. Infuriating. I hate it. And it's honestly not that easy to get me that mad, either, to where I'm just raw as f*ck and all my walls are down. Including the ones that mind my bearing. Not when I've spent 15 some odd years keeping a fawking short as hell leash on my temper.
That's some of the bullshit MDMA just waltzes past like a spring breeze through a screen door. Which I know, because I've taken it. Highly effective babble juice. Which is also why I won't be taking it therapeutically. (AKA Friday is a Moron). My mind is my own, dammit, and I set the mission for myself to be able to talk about what I want, when I want, as I want ...some time ago. Mastering my own mind will happen, or I'll die trying. Period.
If I hadn't gotten stubborn about this years ago, I'd maybe be on board. Then again, #TrustIssues, so who knows, really. As it is? I've lost too many people I care about to suicide and death wishes granted not to be over the moon at anything that can seriously help. Cutting years off treatment? Walzting past Fort Knox defenses? Hell yeah.