"They're your issues. You determine their size."
Someone wise told me that the other day.
This is something I've struggled with for years and years, probably because I always imagined that going to a therapist would provide a simple solution to my mental disarray, much like a dose of amoxicillin knocks out my walking pneumonia every time it strikes.
Turns out, even the best therapist I've seen has admitted that "becoming healthy" depends upon my ability to "choose how I live."
FUCK THAT, man. Just fix me already.
It's such an odd thing, being genetically predisposed to imbalance and addiction, circumstantially being driven to those things, and then choosing them because they are how I identify myself now.
It's the triple threat of mental disorder.
Thank god for Cheez-Its.