Genetically predisposed to be overtly critical of everything
while also severely hindered by crippling social anxiety.
I've never been to therapy
nor a psychologist
not even a mystic-
and I know the last one's probably
a fraud: but the effort is, at least, somewhere near
sincere.
Adjacent, perhaps.
I might even be riddled and rotted
through and through,
by the experiences that have shaped
my soul
yet I know-
that I still know nothing
at all.
If there's truth to my reality, and it's not some story I've concocted,
then the reality is that I am simply me, and I have certainly NEVER...
been to therapy.