Assertive (Or, She has a Pen.)

She had a bad habit of playing therapist. She was the modern sexless sapphire;  the matriarch there to suckle the adult toddlers, to solve everyone's problems.

She watched them talk. She watched as the complaints rushed out of their mouths, like levees breaking, like dams crumbling, flooding her mind, washing away any self-reflection she was saving for herself when she got a moment alone.

Because to them, she was just the girl at the tin can on the other end. She was the Freud, the Dear Abby, the Oprah--ethereal beings that were untouchable, that didn't need assistance. They comforted and soothed the self-absorbed, the emotionally afflicted.

They told her laconically that they wanted to know what she was going through, but she knew better. She knew that once she began to talk, it would always, Always, gravitate/relate back to them. She helped them believe that the world revolved around their melodrama, their fuck-ups, their self loathing.

But things have changed.

She is now purging her life of anything that does not benefit her progress, her comfort, her self-assurance.

That includes those who have likened her presence, her friendship, to that of a therapist's session.

She has no time for one-sided relationships.

She has no time for those who only see her as a "good listener."

You have been mistaken. She is merely a writer that enjoys observing and analyzing the human experience. She will take your stories of self-inflicted woe and twist them into her own beautifully flawed gems of fiction.

Be warned. She has a pen. And she will fucking use it.

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~