Mr. Polish Streetcar

I didn't go far enough. I couldn't, and now I'm sorry about it. Now I realize what he meant about not revisiting traumatic events. And I thought I didn't have any trauma in my life. Apparently it makes no difference that the trauma was more or less my own creation. I didn't get the sense of release that I was hoping for. Hm, there's an interesting parallel. At least I pulled up before I broke down. That could have gotten pretty ugly.

It's not my fault. This isn't about him, or her, or them, or me, it's about you. It's your fault and you do this because you want to see me suffer, you want me to break down, you fucking sadist. I hate you.
That's as far as I could go. I wish now that I'd gone farther, or taken a different route. It made everyone else feel better, but it just made me feel worse.

I've been remarkably lucky. Maybe I'm a little more masochistic than I thought I was, and a little more sadistic. I wonder which is worse for me.

It's the same key. A duality, because the same key opens two doors, the same words bring down two masks.
It's like the political spectrum, which is an odd but fitting analogy. There are two axis, not just "good" and "bad" emotions, but the strength of them figures in as well. Love and hate are like authoritarianism and communism. Not mutually exclusive in any sense. Anybody ever heard of Stalin or Robert Mugabe?

Duality and balance. Scales of justice, yin and yang, there's a lot of symbols I could reference here.

I said I hate you already. And I do, to a point. But the love's there too.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer