I can’t picture things any other way.

January 3, 2006

My capacity for empathy has definitely improved, but it’s still easier for me to feel for strangers and causes than for loved ones, sometimes. I’m like the stereotype of a man, in that I offer solutions when people just want nods and understanding. (I’m assuming that’s what they want. If I knew I wouldn’t be typing this, or dreading certain interactions.)

Last week the attacks started coming on as crushing pain in my arms in addition to the usual lightheadedness and derealization. Hard to bear.

Related: I felt so capable after talking to B.B, got all of the old endorphin rush with none of the old self-loathing. Maybe his ambition rubs off on me via IM. On rare occaisions, I feel like I could do so much if I wasn’t held back by the health bullshit. Then I remember that many people have overcome much more, and that I’m as procrastinatory and frightened of failure (are these the same thing?) as I am ill.


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