[Dinner Party of Bliss 🍷]

this is the fantasy

[…]

I'm pouring wine into everyone's glasses. It’s beautiful. Next, I tell them to help themselves. We sit down and make a toast. They all take a sip. It’s like a staged performance, but only I know that there’s a script. It’s special. The medicine kicks in. They become crazed. They’re begging for further corruption, begging for my wine. I stand on the table and raise my glass. Everybody wants it. Spectacularly, their heads, bodies, and fingers are fighting for it, screaming, demanding, killing each other. Ultimately, they go limp. I’m left to celebrate my victory.

My hands are covered with flour, and Doe is still next to me, making the dough. I want to tell her so many things, but I know she will think I’m disgusting. My own thoughts scare me. It was just a thought, right? Nothing bad happened. I’m just standing here making cookies.

You know you’ve already gone past the threshold of gaining full control whenever you want.

But I’ll make it worse. I can just stop right here and forget about my previous attempts. I know they’ll catch me some day.

That’s another story. If you think that you can just stop one day, you’re lying to yourself. You already did it once, there’s no going back.

Why did I do this in the first place? What’s wrong with me?

A lot of things, actually. Your brain has been reduced to jelly, and you love hiding it.

This is not me. I can’t control this anymore. No one can help me.

People would rather you perish and get lost, because you’re not as exceptional as you think. If you want to continue letting others underestimate and shut you off, treating you with pity, like Mikel, fine by me. It’s all about confidence.

I try my best to not sob out of nowhere. I wish she knew. I want to tell Doe about how horrible everyone makes me feel. About how everything is needlessly hard and I’m just running in circles. But I can’t talk to anyone, because if I do, I’ll get in trouble.

[…]