It’s so, so different.
I still get the same surges of fierce protectiveness that I have no way to direct into a sensible course of action. That is the same as it always is. But its different here because I understand better now, just how completely unwanted almost any conceivable action would be if I tried.
Still.
Different.
Maybe different enough though that its something we could have a conversation about. I have never done that. It might be something of a relief, even. Or I could just continue to do things like stop over in the middle of the night to stand in the street and talk for an hour.
It’s so mind-numbingly horrible. I want to save everyone from things that I imagine are hurting them. Want to destroy those things. Tear them into bits and set the bits on fire. But ever single time I know what it is I want to save them from. I know what is hurting them. I don’t know this time.
The only thing I can even base this feeling on is the one way in which our personalities are in opposition. But. That’s ridiculous.
*pause*
I believe my obsessive tendencies have kicked in again, which I was hoping they would not.
A curse upon my obsessive nature.
Not, you know, that I’m actually obsessive-compulsive. Although I have my suspicions. Mostly because of my tendency to always be counting or categorising (not organising) and replaying and replaying and replaying the same violent and morbid stories that have been with me for eleven years now.
Yikes. Eleven.
That’s a lot of years.
I don’t know. Maybe we will talk about it sometime