Disgusting Optimism

In reality I do want sympathy and I, especially, want recognition from old friends. I want them to acknowledge that I have lived in misery. Instead it has all been ignored. ….I don’t give my little sister sympathy. But I must, because I never got it as a child. Not sympathy, not recognition. Today I had my weekly meeting with my contact person. He is a male nurse named Asger assigned to me by the psychological unit in my region. After my meeting with Asger I felt completely drained. Drained – and then recharged.
“Very good. Let’s try to talk it all through thoroughly. Have a safe trip home. Try to look up and see which color the sky has. See you later. Kind regards Asger,” he wrote to me as I left the building where we had just talked. I looked up and there was not one single cloud visible on the sky above. It was this years first summer day. On my way home in the bus I admire nature’s beauty and tell myself: “It’s just the sun, girl! The sun makes you see everything in pretty colors and makes you believe that the world is beautiful!” Good, I think. Realism. Repress that disgusting optimism.