Wall Fly
Writing out my interpersonal problems at work isn’t actually good for me. It doesn’t help me process and get over anything in a healthy way because it just reinforces the way I already feel; this page is an echo chamber of my emotionally skewed perspective. Feverish, almost intoxicating, for how exciting it is to shape emotions into a narrative. It feels amazing in the moment to write it all out like I’m explaining what happened to someone else, but I’m explaining it to me- it’s my own voice. It’s like I’m synced with the fly on the wall who saw everything from my slanted perspective and agrees with me for different reasons.
The fly that jeers beside me, tossing coconut husks under the sparks, hoping I’ll catch: “...can you believe they're gonna say they helped you with this when it was all you?”
And then reading it back when I’m out of that state of mind reminds me that it was never as critical as it felt in the moment.