At Least They're Committed

I playfully poke at you and most times I can’t explain why. My mood and tone shift to extremes, to where you can’t help but wonder if I’m the same person or what the hell is going on. I’m confident, then terrified. Smooth and then hedgy; cool then awkward. I step out of bounds, don’t know my place, all that nonsense, then humbly withdraw to the sanctuary of my room.

In truth I’m grappling, sorting, examining, wondering what the hell I’m doing and why I keep doing it. Feel free to tell me to shut up, show some respect, back off, whatever. I rather like being called on my shit, but you should have figured that out already. Yes, feel free to push back, but don’t feel like you have to. On some level I’m intrigued by the second-guessing, futility and torment of it all. Really.

I answered my own question, “Why Kevin?” The last post you clicked on mentioned I was going to my final session with him. It indicated he was my therapist. I guess that’s all you needed to know?