I came off a night of fitful sleep filled with odd dreams that were occasionally broken up by tending to my sick wife. She was feeling better by the time I left for my therapist appointment. While there, my therapist had me go over how I was processing everything, then listened as I bounced ideas off her, and then listened to her as she focused on the fact that I don’t express much emotion. She hypothesized that my base personality had been buried by my hiding behind my tendency to emulate superheroes since I was a kid. Which was the real me?
A few months before the accident, I had done some introspection in a series of blog posts entitled “Forging Ronin.” I stripped everything down in my mind to the best of my ability so I could find what drives me personally, and what drives my soul and personality type. It’s a process I occasionally revisit to see what has changed. Nevertheless, she wanted me to write about my emotions, to think of them as a switch on a dial.
The thing about my emoti…
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