But that’s just for self-preservation. At least that’s what I tell myself. It sounds better than the reality of the situation, that on most days I feel like I’m the subject of some unidentified larger surveillance program.
And on really bad days I feel as though my life is in jeopardy. But on good days I can get around okay and do what I have to do with only minor speed bumps. That’s not my desired term; it’s what my therapist calls my episodes.
He says that speed bumps are nothing more than a momentary inconvenience. But if you don’t see them, or are in a rush, the bumps have the ability to disable the car. When he first told me of the metaphor I got lost in thought over what type of car my brain would be.