Control Freak: Making Sense Of The Accusations

The last one accused me of it.

The next one will.

My sister wrote a poem about it.

Am I a control freak?

I like to be in control of my existence, of my interactions: The who, what, why and when.

In a world of nails, I can not apologise for being a hammer, for not ever having the urge to conform. Am I digressing? Read on.

I think, therefore I am; I am, therefore I think.

Am I wired differently? The affirmation of that would sound like a broken record. Everyone claims so about themselves. We have been led to believe the lie that our uniqueness is. We are one and the same - neurotic machines of flesh and blood.

We love. We hate.

We laugh. We cry.

We feel. And we hurt.

We live. And we will die.

Only thing is, we exist on a spectrum: A scale of two extremes.

Does caring give us the right to put in our two cents in every action of the other?

I would look the other way if your action was entirely in a domain of its own, incapable of interacting with my existence. I like to be in control of my existence. To live is not to exist. To live is to be in control of my existence.

I like living.

I care about you. And you, me. And because of that reality, our exertions are forever in constant collision with each other. I am an enlisted man fighting for dominance in the battle field of love and affection;

Don't scream foul because you are loosing.