Schliiiiiiiiik, the sound of a metal tray sliding across the floor into my hotel suite. A suite with all the features someone like me deserves. A person who can’t even trust himself, or rather, his selves. Cause you see well there are times when I am not myself. Well my psychologist says it a little better, she says there are times I am another version of myself I have no control over. See my psychologist, Shelah, she says this part of me was always inside with the purpose of protecting me, it just never came out until I needed protection. Though my psychologist, Shelah, would suggest I’m better, then I’ve been, we both know the “I” is a very complicated thing to suggest much of anything positive about. She recently asked me if I could think back to anything from your childhood? A blackout or memory loss? I drifted into a distant memory, one mostly ignored until this moment as it came into focus with this additional context, as the circle connected. “Yes, I have been like this my whole life.” I admitted, to her and myself. The irony of it was frustrating. “Would you say it’s a protective mechanism?” She questioned again, taking note of my previous response. I looked up at her.
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