I got bitten on the leg helping locals break up a dog fight.
I scraped my knuckles and grazed my chin trying to “persuade” a tourist that the object of his affection was not interested.
I got my heart broken waiting for the cutie with a pixie cut to leave with me, only to see her head off with someone else.
But I know what my problem is. I think I’m exceptional. As in, somehow the rules don’t apply to me.
Like I have some motive force that drives me on, tells me I’m special, that I can, should, need to do the thing.
Stand up straight, look death and dismay in the eye, don’t blink. I’ll be fine. I have superpowers.
But I don’t. It’s just hypomania.
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