Don't Pay Attention to the Girl in the Mirror
To me, talking to oneself is a natural way of coping or trying to understand something. Or possibly just to relieve some boredom. To me, talking to oneself is a perfectly fine and reasonable thing to do, and should not be taken as strange or worrisome in the slightest.
But whenever I talk to myself, I always tell myself something.
Talking to yourself is fine. Talking to yourself as if you're talking to another person and expecting a response, is when things get a little weird.
I've always told myself that. No, I don't think it's a sign of insanity. Maybe a little instability, maybe, but I don't know.
Today, I looked into a mirror and talked to myself. But I treated my reflection as if it were another person, and expected to be talked back to.
Like I stated in my last blog post, sometimes I have waking out of body experiences, where my body feels not my own, as if I'm not the one sending signals from my brain to the spine to the nerves to the muscles, etc.
And today, that went to a whole 'nother level. I looked into my own eyes and thought I was looking at someone else. I screamed at myself, asked myself why I was sabotaging me and why I couldn't just do the things I have to do rather than the things I want to do. I screamed about how I keep myself from reaching happiness.
It was not a sad experience. I was not mad, either.
In fact, I think it was terrifyingly interesting.
But whenever I talk to myself, I always tell myself something.
Talking to yourself is fine. Talking to yourself as if you're talking to another person and expecting a response, is when things get a little weird.
I've always told myself that. No, I don't think it's a sign of insanity. Maybe a little instability, maybe, but I don't know.
Today, I looked into a mirror and talked to myself. But I treated my reflection as if it were another person, and expected to be talked back to.
Like I stated in my last blog post, sometimes I have waking out of body experiences, where my body feels not my own, as if I'm not the one sending signals from my brain to the spine to the nerves to the muscles, etc.
And today, that went to a whole 'nother level. I looked into my own eyes and thought I was looking at someone else. I screamed at myself, asked myself why I was sabotaging me and why I couldn't just do the things I have to do rather than the things I want to do. I screamed about how I keep myself from reaching happiness.
It was not a sad experience. I was not mad, either.
In fact, I think it was terrifyingly interesting.