that someone comes crashing down on everything i've built, telling me my vision was perverted and needed to be fixed. no suggestions, no kind words, no pulling me aside to question my intentions. no, a fucking slap to the face every. fucking. time. how am i supposed to be myself when everyone is busy telling me that the person i want to be isn't good enough?
can't you see that i've got a tinder heart and a paper body
that could burst into flames at the slightest spark?
doesn't that matter to anyone?
no, let's give her a name tag that reads "anger" and ship her off to yet another doctor's office,
corner her on car rides, dinners out with the family. break her down until she hates the very foundation on which she has prided herself on forming, and then tell her to cheer up when her bedside manner is bringing daddy's birthday party down.
fuck you.
you do not know me if you're tossing me into the anger management bin.
because maybe my emotions don't play out on my face the way they do inside,
so here's a backstage pass: inside of me is broken. all the strings are frayed and have wittled themselves down to threads.
and every time you do this to me, a few of them break. and sure, there may be hundreds, but once they're gone, they're gone for good. and i fear the day when ive only got one or two left when my foundation is shattered.
not that i'm blaming this all on you, because i'm not. mostly i blame myself. ive broken more of my strings than anyone else has. and that's the problem. i'm constantly teetering on the very edge of losing myself to a black hole of self-loathing. i'm my own punching bag; i can handle that much. it's once you join in on the punches and kicks, once you train me to make more and more accurate and painful blows to already-tender areas, that things start to look a little hopeless to my guilt-ridden psyche.
i don't know,
but i'm drowning here.
i need a change, and now.
i'm calling a new psychiatrist tomorrow.
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