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afflicted norm for life
Help (myself). Since I was a child, I have been crippled with the concentration to focus on getting something that I want done, to the extent that I endure noise, heat, and alienation, among other inconvenient discomforts. Cocktailed onwards with many early traumas that stick on, smaller and larger into youth and adulthood, such laser attention easily gathers an asteroid ring of anxiety, depression, compulsion, obsession, autism, dissociation, derealisation, and depersonalisation.
Past half a century of self-evolution, because I was once too gullible to believe in spending lots of money, time, and resources on other people’s solutions and external inertial systems, and too stubborn later on than to build my own resolutions by parts, steps, and phases, I recently reiterated into splitting my coalition personality into 2 collaborative departments.
The creative crisis wrangler will ever be me, refusing to sink into senile daily recurring tedium “like everyone else, whining in resignation”. It will innovate, transform, however you refuse to face our same stark, approaching reality.
But the low-key disciplined routine is now acknowledged in advanced strengthening, for what I realise has also been its long-time sufferance to keep mine and ours alive, and thriving.
So I will bathe more regularly in equatorial torrid, however debilitating my psychic agony. Just like I will plainly and simply speak up and still revise opinions, however easy it acually is, but practically impossible, according to so many.
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