Me: "Doctor, I've been feeling discomfort. I don't know what the problem could possibly be. I practice self care, and I've been getting plenty of sunlight. I have been focusing on my breathing. Yesterday, I exhaled pale pink rose petals, and they left a sweet taste as they drifted from my wide open mouth; floating away slowly on a cool breeze. I am the luckiest person alive, and I see no logical reason to explain why I become queasy and frozen and unable to move."
Doctor: "Logic is not a diagnostic tool. You are an alcoholic who has only been sober for three weeks. You have compartmentalized your mind to hold several versions of yourself, and you can't seem to remember that they are all the same person. You feed on people's pain like a vampire, and now you've begun to laugh and cry at completely inappropriate moments. None of this is yet to mention that you have a sword sticking out the middle of your chest, and confoundingly this appears to amuse you. Have you considered getting help?"
Me: "I've considered it. Do you have other advice?"
Doctor: "Make some tea, and wait for the rose petals. Once they are yellow, you can return to outer space."