When I am sad, I am severely depressed. Social situations can make me anxious, which more often than not unfortunately presents itself as anger.
We look at everything with extremities. Everything is either black or white, but that’s just how we perceive things, not who we are. We are filled with thoughts and ideas as colorful as it can get. We are constantly fighting for ourselves.
“I left when I woke up with her hands around my throat.”
“I don’t know, is there a mental illness for just being super inconsistent with your views and opinions and basically everything that makes a person who they are? If so, sign me the hell up.”
They promise they’re not leaving me. I ask for extra validation to make sure they’re not lying. I feel bad for being so much of a “burden,” which in turn makes me feel like they’re going to leave me.
When you have no core sense of self, it’s easy to be anyone.
I bond with those who talk about their mental health struggles, who don’t act like robots or carbon cut outs of what a person should be. But most importantly, those who wear their hearts on their sleeves.
“He made a full-sized mannequin wearing my clothes and shoes, a wig with my hair color and style and put it in his living room.”
My greatest apologies go out to those who I’ve lost due to my disorder because they didn’t deserve it. Just like a diabetic is responsible for checking their blood sugar, I am responsible for checking myself.
No, it’s not just you making up a lame excuse for being mean and stubborn. No, this was not your choice.