Barbara Barbara
In this inner argument I keep having with myself, the simplest answer—actually, the solution—I found was to isolate.
To isolate emotions.
I keep them there, on an island that doesn't exist.
Most of the time it works, I live serenely with my own ineptitude, seeing things as they are: objectively normal. Everything is normal, everything is simple, everything is nothing (or close to it, fine—I give myself the benefit of the doubt).
I'm Barbara Barbara. I'm normal.
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