in an ideal world

It wouldn't be weird to say, You're pretty aggressive, you know. Inappropriately so, but I'm not complaining. Pulling your chair right up against me. Always standing way too close. Leaning in over my shoulder in silent agreement over the obvious.

There's no harm in smelling nice and being friendly.

Really, in an ideal world I could be vocal about it and deal with the consequences.

There are countless easier ways to get me to leave

I'm not joking when I say there are brief moments here and there when I am absolutely terrified of completely and utterly losing my mind. Maybe it's a contributing factor to why I don't do drugs.

The kind of silent terror that sweeps over you in a cold wave like the nightmares you have where you try screaming for help, but your mouth freezes open and nothing comes out. The kind of helplessness you experience when you finally accept that no one can really save you from yourself.

Maybe it's not so bad; maybe having a mind of your own is nothing more than one of those things we're accustomed to having and can do without anyway.

I would never admit it, if you asked me, so don't.