Autopilot

There was this person, once…. This person who… had a lot of trouble, at times, trying to come up with sensible things to say. Especially during times of high anxiety and stress, and in times of some of their lowest depressions. So, they came up with a way to make up for these times.

This person didn’t really begin to do this on purpose, though… so it started out rather rough.

I-I I’m sorry. I can’t really… figure this out right n-now… can… we talk about something else???

They would speak or type exactly how the words came into their head. Sometimes they would say exactly the words that came into their head.

I’m on autopilot- r-right now. I-I’m sorry if I- seem- wrong? I’m wrong.

They never quite fully broke the habit.

They still do that rather often. They run on autopilot hoping someone will see the wrong and make it right.

That person is me, in case you haven’t figured that out. The reason I’m writing this is to turn my autopilot off. If I just keep running this string of words I’ll start thinking sensibly again. That’s what most of my non-rhyming poetry is. Just my autopilot spilling out every sentence I can find in my mind. Oh look I’m rhyming again. This is a good sign.

Sorry this probably isn’t all that interesting to you… I’ll probably fade into the depressing part of this soon. It’s a difficult cycle to break….. It’ll be over soon… it’ll be over soon…..

Maybe I won’t get into the depressing part yet… maybe it’ll pass before I realize it’s here…. Maybe I’ll skip it this time…. Whatever… whatever…. Autopilot? You can stop now.

“Okay…”