It is the true teacher who leaves the class knowing they have learned the most.

Tucson, AZ
Joined September 2006
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I do not normally blame others for my circumstances. There are three exceptions. Two of them are long dead - my father and my uncle.
The psychopathic narcissist who broke my glass heart with beautiful words I'd never heard lives on causing pain, yet I am the one destroyed.
Thanks to @KeepCalmPurrOn I have had my quirk identified. Read about "Positive Deviance" on the ol' wiki-p. I am positively deviant.
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Replying to @dstorey
@dstorey Dammit child. You can always make me laugh. Even when I don't want to!
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@phidip Tea or coffee, no more beer please. Didn't help my situation to become an alcoholic on purpose so late in life ;-)
Maybe I should just see myself as a quirky genius. But that would be arrogant. And a lie. But it would make my struggles easier to explain.
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I'm sorry Twitter. I apologize, my friends. You're just watching my process, yet again, which looks really scary. And so it is. And so I am.
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Talk therapy just makes all my talking and hyper verbosity worse. Besides, I've yet to meet a therapist in 45 years that can out-talk me.
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The occupation of my hands trying to keep up with my racing thoughts is the singlemost effective means of dispensing with my excesses.
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Replying to @cosmic53
@cosmic53 Yes, Discipline. Elephant Talk. King Crimson (Latter Day). Saw a great live performance of that album long ago. Good times were.
When I Frenzy Tweet I have to use my hands to type, and even 120 wpm doesn't clock on my word speedometer, which is incalculably fast.
I do respond to behavioral therapy far better. I need to do, not talk. Talk talk talk. This is just spillage from a poison cesspool of shit.
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I just mean talk therapy has failed ME. Not others! Use what works for you. It has not and cannot work for me. Think about why logically.
What helps me is ACTION. MOVEMENT. FORWARD ADVANCES. I keep attempting but either go and push myself down or someone else does it for me.
I've been talking to someone my whole life. Sometimes for fun, and sometimes for downright profit. Talking to someone helps me NOT.
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"Talk, it's only talk Babble, burble, banter, bicker, bicker, bicker Brouhaha, boulderdash, ballyhoo It's only talk . . ." - Adrian Belew
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I am in such a frenzy of rage and terror I'm bleeding through my nose and out my ears.
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I am chemical soup A medical experiment I drink no liquor I eat no flesh It's the fucking chemicals that now threaten me with death.
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This is bad. And to think I once self-medicated with alcohol! Talk about depression squared! I haven't had alcohol in well over a year.
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What is saving me is killing me. Or is it what is killing me is what is saving me?
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