My brain is the source of all my suffering. I hate it. I hate its unreliability. I hate how I never remember where I’ve left my things. I hate how I don’t do stuff in time and when I finally get to whatever it is I had to do I’ve forgotten essential things about it. I have to put away my socks but I delay the chore until only one sock can be found. I hate how I always get distracted.
I hate how my brain wishes so fervently somebody wished I was there. I hate the sensation of sheer loneliness that envelopes it. I hate its yearning for certain comforting words. I hate all the bad decisions it’s taken, starting with “I can do that later” or “this will be easy to find if I put it here.” Everything I put away in a safe place is gone.