Dear Reader:
Are you listening enough? To
yourself? Word on the street is that you have quite a lot to say. I just wonder
if you are listening to yourself. No, no, no dear reader, this is not an
indictment or even the slightest intimation that you lack any sort of hearing
and or attention to your fellow brethren. No friend, this is an indictment though…of
your empathy and attention…but to you. Yes, you. Shh, quiet now, hear me out
and I know you will…I just wish you would hear yourself out dear friend. No,
please don’t interrupt for I have the floor now and I intend to win you over
and in the process let you win yourself over because someone I know needs a little
TLC…no correction, a lot of TLC. Yes, the rumors are true, you are always there
for your family and friends. Always. Rain or shine, 24/7/365, you are there
with an ear made of gold and a heart the size of a hot air balloon, fully
inflated with, as it turn out, not air. Wikipedia it sometime. But always there
for others but not there for numero uno, not there for the guy in the mirror,
not there for the gal seeing her reflection in the tears of her friends. Oh how
did it come to this? No wait, please don’t interrupt, this is an intervention…for
you, to get you to come back to you, to take you into consideration, for you to
matter to you. Pleading we are for you to share that love, share it, give it,
by the pantloads but just shove that pantload of love right back to you because
we think you need it dear friend. You need a pantload of self-love and we aim
to help you pull the trigger on the self-love gun dear friend. No ands ifs or
butts friend. No, shh, blaming yourself
is not part of this intervention. Blame is for blamers and you, golden ear and
hot air balloon heart, are not a blamer. No no no a thousand times no, you are
a lover to the nth degree. Love by the bucketsful overflowing, careening down
streets and into homes and hearts, enriching uncountable lives but perhaps, oh
dear, not the life that matters most , the life that without which the
uncountable lives would not be enriched, yours. Oh my, this is terrible, just
terrible. We want you to love like you’ve never loved before, wet gooey love,
the kind that brings tears to eyes and requires a wet-nap for the soul. Just turn it, 360 degrees, right back at you.
Use a mirror if you have to, reflect it, point the love gun at your temple,
love thyself my friend. Do you not deserve it? Love, we all deserve it. As much
as we can get. And you, oh please forgive me, forgive my crying and wailing
about like a sentimental fool, you deserve this love and I demand, yes demand ,
that you love yourself. Who am I to demand? I am a receiver of your love who
knows the pain you are in and wants to help. Sue me if you must, litigate if
you can, but I will not stop until you, oh dear, point that wonderful love gun
and shoot those love beams right into your own heart oh dear! Take this, please
take this, it is an empty journal, and fill it, to the brim with kudos and
congratulations and encouragements for you, from you. Maybe then you’ll see
friend just how deserving you are. Stop trying to interrupt, I won’t allow it,
not today, not during this interven – what’s that you say? You get paid for all
that? You are a therapist? And you would only turn it 180 degrees you say?
