I have a limited capacity for empathy. My psychologist told me that, with an expression on his face that I did not and choose not to understand.

I’ve always been of the opinion that if people wanted me to care about them, they might not be so fucking dreadful, but apparently this isn’t normal so I’ve tried to make some concession, in the interest of fairness (read: some fucking peace).

I’ve allowed myself 5 people to care about. That seems fair. One: my mother, because she tries. Two: David Duchovny; he’s a fine actor, everyone leave him be. Three: Susan from the bank; no issues with her, she’s polite and quick. Four: my youngest sister; it seems a bit unfair to disregard her as she’s only twelve and has yet to fuck up in any meaningful way. Five: you; you’re lovely.

You’re a recent addition and, though nothing I can think of can justify it, I want to change the world to suit your needs. You’ve changed literally everything, and for that all I can think to do is thank you.

Although this does mean I no longer care about my dad.

That is your fault.



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