Diagnosis, Mental.

This thing that I have, that they don’t know what to call yet, this jumble of two or more diagnosis..

It makes you want to tell the delivery man that you’re lonely and a bit afraid and would he like to come in for a shag, just so that you can feel something, or a bit less lost.

In fact it makes me want to seduce most people, just to prove I can.

It makes me want to get super wasted, out my face in self destruct mode and play pool badly with strangers in pubs at breakfast time; snort dubious white powder in the toilets with some guy who you vaguely know to be shifty and ‘one to avoid’.                                          

It makes you think that your neighbour might be a serial killer and you listen out for a rhythm to their banging hammer in case they have a hostage who is trying to get my attention through the walls. Or that you’re being possessed by someone who freaked you out on the internet.                                                

It makes me want to adore you and shower you with gifts one minute and then think you are the worst friend I have ever had the next, because of one small mishap or misunderstanding.

It will make me idolise you and look up to you and ruin any chance we have of being friends, or lovers, because you are too good for me and are only using me anyway.                                                                                                                                                                                                
It will allow me to use others and manipulate them because they are worthless to me, but in the same breath let myself be used by others I deem more worthy, because I’d rather feel the crushing pain of rejection and abuse than nothing at all.

It makes me sensitive to everything and everyone’s opinion. I seek validation in others. I am nothing without YOUR love.        

It makes you cry out for you deceased ex-boyfriend at night, because you don’t believe in praying to god but you need divine intervention, and you beg for him to take the fucking pain away, because ‘I don’t want to feel like this anymore!’                                              

And then out of nowhere I am Queen!!                                                                                                      

And I can be the greatest poet, the warmest angel, the holiest hope in this beautiful green earth, of which I am connected to and wholly part of! I can write and paint and dance for hours, I can save the world and heal all with the blissful thud of my heartbeat!         

And in between the nothingness and the supernova of emotion and wonder and joy at the world, I cry and cry for days.

The not knowing kills you, makes you second guess every little thing.                                          
Is it a habit, is it a symptom? Am I sick, or am I human?

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