don't tell me how i'm supposed to feel. stop dictating how fast my heart is supposed to beat, how clammy my hands should or shouldn't be. on good days i am able to rein in my mind, other days the tremors leak into my throat, taking over my vocal cords like venomous tendrils. don't tell me how i'm supposed to feel. your banal and repeated words are reflective of your foolishness and the windows to your soul are crumbling. do you tell a crippled man to rise and walk as if it is his weak will that bounds him to the wheelchair? in the same manner you are not the creator of my cerebrum and in no way are you entitled to categorize my twitching fingers, pale lips and darting eyes under Attention Seeking. is this a joke to you? is pacing around my room, battling myself, weighing the pros and cons of stepping out of the house merely for your entertainment? fit me in a metaphor- wring my skin, my bones, my muscles and you are left with a dehydrated skeleton and a pool of highly strung particles.