Clint Zéphyr Chevalier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
privateinvestigations) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2016-06-08 08:30 pm
privateinvestigations) wrote in muserevival2016-06-08 08:30 pm
122.3. Private therapy journal
Lose control
It's sometimes hard to resist the temptation to fucking punch whining pussies in the face. Especially privileged ones. Maybe someday it'll be legal and I'll have free range. Nice to fucking dream. But I can't lose control. Luckily, wanting to keep good with the cops to maintain an in with them stops me doing it. That, and needing to be here to take care of my family and I'd rather waste my energy on people I care about. What's impossible to resist is staring at them and wondering if they realise how fucking dumb they sound moaning about their miserable existences in hopes some poor sod will listen and cater to their whining. Fortunate for me, I make it my job to steer clear of dickheads like that... unless they've done anything significantly dumb enough to hurt my family. Free range then, and it's a guaranteed promise it won't be pretty.
I've learned life's too fucking short. It can be over in a heartbeat. Fucking literally. Right before your eyes. Or maybe insomnia is just driving me batshit crazy and I'm hyper-sensitive to wankers. Can't really blame the lack of sleep on that. Never been able to stand emotional vampires who suck you dry and then are conveniently never around when you're dealing with shit. God fucking forbid someone else gets the attention! Maybe I'm hyper-sensitive because the most important person in my life was nearly murdered in front of me. Ain't that what got me here in therapy in the first place? Used to be able to fucking handle any bullshit life threw at me until that was hitting me like a fucking freight train. Didn't see it coming. Wasn't a step ahead this time.
I still watch him sleep. Every breath in, every fucking breath out. There's no heart monitors there now to prove to me he's still fucking alive. Not like I ever believed them anyway. You tend to get paranoid as fuck when some cunt tries to hurt your family. Never had to deal with shit like therapy before, but I ain't gonna sit here and say I'm above it, or it doesn't work for me, or make a billion and fucking one excuses why it won't do any good. People say a load of bullshit like therapy is for you, or it's a 'personal' thing. It's fucking not. You go to therapy to sort your shit out. You sort your shit out so you're not a fucking pain in the ass to be around. End of story. I'm doing it for me, and I'm fucking doing it for my family. They matter, I don't. They need me around. And fuck only knows why, but they want me around too. It's my responsibility to sort my shit out.
Though, I ain't really sure what the point of writing shit down is. But I'll do it. Here's one reason why I hate whining pussies. Not that I feel I gotta explain my deductions because them being painful as fuck to be around is plenty of a reason for me. One reason is my other half. He was nearly stabbed to death, and he hasn't once - not fucking once - bitched or moaned about how hard done by he is. He has nearly curled up in a fit of agony and misery because his pain wasn't fucking controlled. If there is one person who could pull the Poor Me, Woe is fucking Me card, it would be him. And hell, I'd sit right there and listen to him through it it. But he ain't. Most of the time, he just worries about me, not himself.
I think that's why I'm so fucking lucky. It ain't unnoticed or not appreciated either, even if I know I'm a hard cunt a lot of the time. It's how I was raised, I don't wanna change. As long as my cock was catered to and no one was hurting the people I loved, I was good. If they did, it was game fucking on. No questions asked. This ain't about that, though. That ain't a secret, and I ain't ever tried to make it one. Why I'm lucky is that I get to be surrounded by some seriously fucking amazing people. Not just one or two, but a whole pile of really good, honest, kind and caring folk. No matter how hard shit is, how much it fucking hurts, how much you want to punch the shit out of something, or shoot a cunt in the head, they're there for you. Even if you don't wanna talk, they're still there, and you know you don't have to talk. Or you don't wanna talk, but you need to, they wait until you can. Wait until that fucking lump of terror ain't choking up your throat. You don't have to censor any shit with them because they're too sensitive and easily offended. You don't need to worry they're going to chuck a tanty and run off accusing you of all the shit in the world being your fault or start pulling a dickhead passive-aggressive pity party because you're saying something they don't have thick skin to handle.
That just ain't what life is about, and it certainly ain't what family is about. Family way above and beyond blood. Life is about taking the good with the bad. Because fuck, the bad is always gonna get you. No one's immune to the bad, and everyone fucks up. Everyone is in pain, everyone has been miserable. Those are the times you need all those amazing folk to know what you need and why, before you even know yourself. That's what matters.
Those are the folk you need in your life, not whining pussies. Because those are the folk you don't need to justify why you need them, or why you know they make you a better person. You don't gotta justify why you're angry or hurt. A fucking hug, a pat on the back, taking a gun outta your hand when you're trying to shoot them in the head for cockblocking your anger - they just know when you need them. And I do. I really fucking need them. I need them to punch me in the head or kick me in the nuts when I'm a cunt (thanks, Ange). Or I need them to push me into a wall and tell me to get my head outta my fucking ass (thanks, Eu). Or I need them to fight with me when all I know how to do is fight like a dangerous cunt because everything is slipping outta my control (thanks, Em).
But most of all, I need someone to not take my shit, and to not need me to change. To tell me to get fucked when I need to hear it, but still not give up. I need my fucking husband, as weird as it still is to say that. Linc's the one who is the king of all this stuff and more. He leads the pack.
So, that's why I know I gotta bite the bullet and try to sort this insomnia shit out. It's hard to relinquish the control and fall at the feet of fear, but as they say, shit happens. Shit will always happen. It's how you deal with it that makes you a strong person. More than that, though, it's how other people deal with your shit that makes them all worth their weight in fucking gold, and why I'm one fucking lucky bastard to have some of the best people in my life to remind me that there's more to life than a whole pile of shit happening.
clint chevalier
original character
It's sometimes hard to resist the temptation to fucking punch whining pussies in the face. Especially privileged ones. Maybe someday it'll be legal and I'll have free range. Nice to fucking dream. But I can't lose control. Luckily, wanting to keep good with the cops to maintain an in with them stops me doing it. That, and needing to be here to take care of my family and I'd rather waste my energy on people I care about. What's impossible to resist is staring at them and wondering if they realise how fucking dumb they sound moaning about their miserable existences in hopes some poor sod will listen and cater to their whining. Fortunate for me, I make it my job to steer clear of dickheads like that... unless they've done anything significantly dumb enough to hurt my family. Free range then, and it's a guaranteed promise it won't be pretty.
I've learned life's too fucking short. It can be over in a heartbeat. Fucking literally. Right before your eyes. Or maybe insomnia is just driving me batshit crazy and I'm hyper-sensitive to wankers. Can't really blame the lack of sleep on that. Never been able to stand emotional vampires who suck you dry and then are conveniently never around when you're dealing with shit. God fucking forbid someone else gets the attention! Maybe I'm hyper-sensitive because the most important person in my life was nearly murdered in front of me. Ain't that what got me here in therapy in the first place? Used to be able to fucking handle any bullshit life threw at me until that was hitting me like a fucking freight train. Didn't see it coming. Wasn't a step ahead this time.
I still watch him sleep. Every breath in, every fucking breath out. There's no heart monitors there now to prove to me he's still fucking alive. Not like I ever believed them anyway. You tend to get paranoid as fuck when some cunt tries to hurt your family. Never had to deal with shit like therapy before, but I ain't gonna sit here and say I'm above it, or it doesn't work for me, or make a billion and fucking one excuses why it won't do any good. People say a load of bullshit like therapy is for you, or it's a 'personal' thing. It's fucking not. You go to therapy to sort your shit out. You sort your shit out so you're not a fucking pain in the ass to be around. End of story. I'm doing it for me, and I'm fucking doing it for my family. They matter, I don't. They need me around. And fuck only knows why, but they want me around too. It's my responsibility to sort my shit out.
Though, I ain't really sure what the point of writing shit down is. But I'll do it. Here's one reason why I hate whining pussies. Not that I feel I gotta explain my deductions because them being painful as fuck to be around is plenty of a reason for me. One reason is my other half. He was nearly stabbed to death, and he hasn't once - not fucking once - bitched or moaned about how hard done by he is. He has nearly curled up in a fit of agony and misery because his pain wasn't fucking controlled. If there is one person who could pull the Poor Me, Woe is fucking Me card, it would be him. And hell, I'd sit right there and listen to him through it it. But he ain't. Most of the time, he just worries about me, not himself.
I think that's why I'm so fucking lucky. It ain't unnoticed or not appreciated either, even if I know I'm a hard cunt a lot of the time. It's how I was raised, I don't wanna change. As long as my cock was catered to and no one was hurting the people I loved, I was good. If they did, it was game fucking on. No questions asked. This ain't about that, though. That ain't a secret, and I ain't ever tried to make it one. Why I'm lucky is that I get to be surrounded by some seriously fucking amazing people. Not just one or two, but a whole pile of really good, honest, kind and caring folk. No matter how hard shit is, how much it fucking hurts, how much you want to punch the shit out of something, or shoot a cunt in the head, they're there for you. Even if you don't wanna talk, they're still there, and you know you don't have to talk. Or you don't wanna talk, but you need to, they wait until you can. Wait until that fucking lump of terror ain't choking up your throat. You don't have to censor any shit with them because they're too sensitive and easily offended. You don't need to worry they're going to chuck a tanty and run off accusing you of all the shit in the world being your fault or start pulling a dickhead passive-aggressive pity party because you're saying something they don't have thick skin to handle.
That just ain't what life is about, and it certainly ain't what family is about. Family way above and beyond blood. Life is about taking the good with the bad. Because fuck, the bad is always gonna get you. No one's immune to the bad, and everyone fucks up. Everyone is in pain, everyone has been miserable. Those are the times you need all those amazing folk to know what you need and why, before you even know yourself. That's what matters.
Those are the folk you need in your life, not whining pussies. Because those are the folk you don't need to justify why you need them, or why you know they make you a better person. You don't gotta justify why you're angry or hurt. A fucking hug, a pat on the back, taking a gun outta your hand when you're trying to shoot them in the head for cockblocking your anger - they just know when you need them. And I do. I really fucking need them. I need them to punch me in the head or kick me in the nuts when I'm a cunt (thanks, Ange). Or I need them to push me into a wall and tell me to get my head outta my fucking ass (thanks, Eu). Or I need them to fight with me when all I know how to do is fight like a dangerous cunt because everything is slipping outta my control (thanks, Em).
But most of all, I need someone to not take my shit, and to not need me to change. To tell me to get fucked when I need to hear it, but still not give up. I need my fucking husband, as weird as it still is to say that. Linc's the one who is the king of all this stuff and more. He leads the pack.
So, that's why I know I gotta bite the bullet and try to sort this insomnia shit out. It's hard to relinquish the control and fall at the feet of fear, but as they say, shit happens. Shit will always happen. It's how you deal with it that makes you a strong person. More than that, though, it's how other people deal with your shit that makes them all worth their weight in fucking gold, and why I'm one fucking lucky bastard to have some of the best people in my life to remind me that there's more to life than a whole pile of shit happening.
original character