I miss you,
And I'm up in arms
Over something my brother said.

See I've have things I
Struggle with
Almost constantly,
Like because I have a handful of mental illnesses,
Does that make me bad?

Or do my illnesses
Make me insane?
Or does my illness
Mean I'm held
More or less accountable
For things I can't control?

Having been abused,
Does that mean I'll repeat the cycle?
Or does it my mental illness
Make me so?

I'm up in arms
For having been accused
Once or twice
Of using someone as a punching bag,
But she fails to remember
The majority of our Junior and Senior
Years,
When she would gladly rip into me
All because she felt it was right,
During her time of month.

Not to say it was right,
It wasn't right,
For me to treat her poorly
As I tried to survive,
But either way,
There were ways to end a friendship
Better than her falsehoods.

And I'm up in arms,
Because I'm on the defensive,
And I'm scared I'm not my best,
And I know in real, grown up love,
So they say,
You're supposed to stick by someone
Even at their worst.

And I'll stick by you,
Easily.
It won't be difficult for me.
I've seen some things.

But I don't want you
To ever see me
At my worst,
So I'm up in arms,
And I'm scared,
And I'm considering
Getting the deep insides
Of my medial temporal lobe
Removed.

Just remove
The limbic system.

I don't know.
Nightmares and memories
At every turn.

I have to go back
To that hell hole
For half an hour tomorrow.

I'm honestly terrified.