Therapy Speak Fluency
Track 19 of Boundary Era
[ Lyrics ]
Regulate, don’t triangulate. Regulate, don’t triangulate. You say I’m ‘overreacting’ when I name the quiet things— like how you ghost for three days, then call it ‘space between.’ Gaslight in pastel tones, wrapped in a sympathy bow, say I’m ‘too much’ when I ask if you even know. I used to shrink myself, play the part of the confused, but now I speak fluent love with clinical proof. Your love-bombing? Projection. The silence? Control. I’m not broken—I’m just diagnosing your soul. No more translating pain into polite. I speak the language now—I set the type. You want a therapist? I’m pro bono, free— just don’t mistake my clarity for cruelty. Regulate, don’t triangulate. That’s not intimacy—it’s manipulation bait. Regulate, don’t dominate. I speak in boundaries, not in shades of ‘wait.’ You stonewall like a statue, then act surprised when I build a life that doesn’t knock on your quiet skies. Emotional invalidation dressed as calm advice— ‘Why can’t you just let go?’ Nah, *you* pay the price. I’ll journal not for healing, but for subpoena-strong facts, timestamp every ‘sorry’ you tossed like abstract tax. You taught me the behaviors—I aced the test. Now I’m fluent in the trauma you called ‘best.’ You say I’m cold, too clinical, lost the spark— but tenderness isn’t blind, it leaves a mark. And mine’s a fingerprint: clear, defined. You’re not misunderstood—you’re just not kind. Regulate, don’t triangulate. That’s not intimacy—it’s manipulation bait. Regulate, don’t dominate. I speak in boundaries, not in shades of ‘wait.’ I don’t need your apology loop. I charted the cycle—hear it? *Whoop. Whoop.* Deflection, projection, blame reversal rate— I graduated early… *summa cum hate.* Regulate, don’t triangulate. I’m not your mirror—I’m your case file date. Regulate, don’t dominate. Love shouldn’t need a DSM to validate. Regulate… regulate… Diagnosis: growth. Prognosis: free.