For the last one year of my life, I have been experiencing my emotions tainted through a smoke screen filter of guilt. I have made serious mistakes, sure, but I aint supposed to live like one, too. The thing is, the smoke doesn't die away on it's own (at least, not fast enough for emotions to get through), and if you tamper with it, you end up releasing more fumes. There are certain people that make this all go away in a magical puff, unexpected allies in the otherwise grayscale life of yours truly.
One of them perplexes me. I don't know if he does it on purpose or it's just his chaos interacting with mine on some subconscious level where I lose, but I can really focus on anything I choose to when he's around. The other one, he looked really pale the last time I saw him, we're like that Andrew Eldtrich song. The third one is the closest being to my soul I've ever met. He's also my preferred choice for wingman, the designated person to hold me from the back of the head as I spill my guts down the toilet.
Hardly healthy, I know. But the other-people-are-not-responsible-for-healing-up-the-shit-inside-your-head doctrine can wait. And if you think I'm talking about you, I probably aren't.
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