I feel sick, but I don't have pain or nausea. It's a chronic paranoia, carving me out like a hollow husk. I can't trust, but I can get close and I ask and beg to do so. When you oblige, I cast you aside. It makes my efforts useless. The scariest thing is watching yourself going insane. It's killing me inside. It destroys my world and makes me cry.
Where my tongue will fly when I lash out. Never with intention, but anger and doubt. It comes from deep, dark fears. A tortured child on a playground. Abandoned, betrayed and thrown down.
What are the things I want most? Love, friends and to always be happy? These things are the things I am throwing away. No regard for meaning, just uncontrolled sensitivity. It fades away in five minutes, but the damage is building. I can never be anybody else and I do my best to stay in myself.
Mental illness can be suffocating. Nothing is helping. The mistake pile is growing.