I think I just felt how I really feel about a question he asked me possibly a year ago. I don't remember when, more or less, but the question was how I felt about something. I realized my intellectual answer several months ago. I just felt how that answer feels.
How do I feel about it? Excruciatingly lonely.
I think the reason I automatically delay everything is so I don't kill myself.
I have absolutely no feeling about what i just wrote. I suppose that's a sad thing, but I don't feel it.
If someone were to ask me how I know I'm a psychopath, I'd point to my blogs and say winning is why I love. It started out as a game to win. Not for sport, but for sheer masochism grinding my soul. I will win loving my family even when I can't feel it.
No one knows how many opportunities knock. For getting even out of malice. For leaving. For fully becoming the monster.
I can't stand being the monster stripped of feeling properly. So I don't feel.
Love isn't about feeling love. It's about living love even if you don't feel it. It's the only way I know out of the daily maze of fail.
I'm not diagnosed that, but I've been careful not to be. I think a few people suspect. The dissonance has been more overwhelming this year than usual.
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