Why do they always say exactly that? As if I’m the one with the fucked coping mechanisms here, instead of responding to anything ive said, like its some sort of gotcha?
You’re not even responding to shit I said; youre just like three comments into trying to find an excuse why I’m someone you shouldn’t listen to, because compassion is too scary for you, but you would feel like such a huge ass arguing against the things I’ve said, and you know it.
A quixotic commitment to logic and reason, proven impossible to complete a century ago, even after Edward Bernays and ivy lee thrust a dagger unto the heart of truth? All realities that interacting with you really drives home. Its mildly frustrating, but it does also make me question, in little ways, if all of this is mad, and even if we can do better, we shouldn’t, and I should just be trying to maximize harm at all times.
I also think you’re a total asshole completely scared to have basic compassion or humanity, but, like, That’s more disappointing than frustrating, and not wholly unexpected.
Shit. I guess bevause my mom never loved me. Same reason ive got a thing for older women, I bet. Theres this whole social thing where everyone says ‘your mother loves you’ and it was just… Harrowing as a kid? At least kids with dead moms got to just say that and people believed them? There was room for something else there, but I didn’t have the luxury of being allowed to heal, every moment around that awful fucking woman was a twist of the knife, a reminder that I wasnt worthy of love, wasnt supposed to be loved. And that kind of fucked me up as I developed. There are empty places, and theres nothing I can do about them; there’s nothing I can do to heal those wounds, because they can’t be healed. They’re just kind of always a part of me now, you know? And I’m angry about it
So you don’t deny any of it? Just deflect abd reassure yourself that ‘I have my shit together, so it can’t happen to me’
Cope
Why do they always say exactly that? As if I’m the one with the fucked coping mechanisms here, instead of responding to anything ive said, like its some sort of gotcha?
Are you mad?
You’re not even responding to shit I said; youre just like three comments into trying to find an excuse why I’m someone you shouldn’t listen to, because compassion is too scary for you, but you would feel like such a huge ass arguing against the things I’ve said, and you know it.
But why are you mad?
Why do I think I might be mad?
A quixotic commitment to logic and reason, proven impossible to complete a century ago, even after Edward Bernays and ivy lee thrust a dagger unto the heart of truth? All realities that interacting with you really drives home. Its mildly frustrating, but it does also make me question, in little ways, if all of this is mad, and even if we can do better, we shouldn’t, and I should just be trying to maximize harm at all times.
I also think you’re a total asshole completely scared to have basic compassion or humanity, but, like, That’s more disappointing than frustrating, and not wholly unexpected.
Damn but y are u mad though?
Shit. I guess bevause my mom never loved me. Same reason ive got a thing for older women, I bet. Theres this whole social thing where everyone says ‘your mother loves you’ and it was just… Harrowing as a kid? At least kids with dead moms got to just say that and people believed them? There was room for something else there, but I didn’t have the luxury of being allowed to heal, every moment around that awful fucking woman was a twist of the knife, a reminder that I wasnt worthy of love, wasnt supposed to be loved. And that kind of fucked me up as I developed. There are empty places, and theres nothing I can do about them; there’s nothing I can do to heal those wounds, because they can’t be healed. They’re just kind of always a part of me now, you know? And I’m angry about it
But I don’t see what that has to do with this.
How about you? Why’re you mad?