Doubtful Psychology

It stirs inside my mind like Schrödinger’s cat.

No, not like Schrödinger’s cat. But something more violent.

Or maybe not? These days I can’t seem to agree with myself. Like a Jurat

Self imposed to avoid the truth. It polarizes my mind but no one knows because It steers me silent.

It likes to turn molehills into mountains, taking the yoke from Its own pilot just to be defiant.

So maybe my mind isn't like Schrodinger's cat, but rather Seligman's Dog.

Trained by Its doubt to avoid a riot, to lay down, to sit still, to stay disquiet.

Afterall, It’s done well to foster my love of a monologue.

Was Freud right, or Wundt? I can’t remember when It first appeared. Maybe once things started to backlog?

All I know is that I can’t escape Its intoxicating latency.

All I know is that It causes me to avoid a new prologue.
Is there an incubus at work? Or am I actually to blame for my lack of drive and fervency?

Yes. And, I think I’m growing tired of this anonymity. I did this. And, I'm sick of my own pusillanimity.

I now know I'm finally ready to fight for the return of my minds equanimity.