My dream job would be wading through the muck of peoples inner demons, sorting them into neat little piles with the edges trimmed out, labeling them, shredding them, lighting fire to the shreds and using the ashes to finger paint acceptance onto their memories.
I love awful movies. Movies where the protagonist gets murderdeathkilled, heroinfaceraped, and has to watch their family go through Chinese water torture. Seriously though. I love thinking about their lives, how I could help them, or what they're thinking and sometimes I can relate to them. Movies like that make me feel like someone understands something or other about me. . . Understands how it feels to be alone, or sad, or hurt or whatever. Also, a cathartic cry never hurt anyone, bitches.
I used to check out psych textbooks from my school library. When I was twelve. And read them all the away through. Multiple times. I was a weird kid, with a fascination for sadness. Again, I think it's because I related.
So, my dream job is being a psychologist.
Because I love figuring people out, and attempting to figure myself out.
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