I’m tired. I’m now officially tired of fighting the same old fight.
For the love of god, man.
Stop trying to fix me.
I don’t need to be fixed.
I am not weak and fragile.
I know what my triggers are. I know what my insecurities are. I know what my knee-jerks are.
And, I sure as hell know what my coping mechanisms are.
Do you know how long it takes to map something like that? Productively? Healthily?
Nah. Ya’ don’.
Man, I’m angry.
Ja. Sometimes I feel pretty shit.
I’M SUPPOSED TO.
I’m manic major depressive for fuck’s sake.
What the shit do you think you’re going to do to fix that?
You are more likely to birth the child of an Amazonian goddess befallen into your chosen lap, you goddamn hero you.
Let me tell you what you could do to help me.
Take your frustration with the longevity of my mental illness, and frick right the fuck off. Right that way, to the left.
Don’t need no more shit to be insecure about. Shot.
Take your damn clumsy hands out my brain.
Loooord is my anxiety severe and debilitating, but do you think I spent years in therapy, on drugs, in self-help groups and surrounded by other morons like you that think you can carry my weight, shine a torch into my darkness and fix the way I am chemically ordered to think, for funsies?
You are the solution, with your positive thinking?
Fuck, dude. Where have you been all my life?
Somme bring that halo, let’s do this.
Some of us are this socially screwed because someone did that in the firrrrst place.
I do the damn decent thing.
I tell you. I bare my soul.
I’m going to stand you up once or twice – not because I don’t want to see you. Nope; because I couldn’t physically or mentally force myself out of bed. I was so afraid of being disappointing to you. Need another try.
It’s like those first few almost jumps you do when you’re learning how to somersault.
Ja. Same thing.
I don’t damn stutter.
Read my last post.
I will spend my life searching for someone who can say the same words to me, I have said to everyone I have ever at some point loved.
“I cannot shelter you from the storm, yet I will sit quietly beside you in the rain.”
That’s it. Give me that. Be that.
Be the goddamn thing I don’t have to be afraid of.
Support me. Understand me. Consider me.
Do not, you big chunk of wonderful human, try to fix me.
If you get frustrated by my mental illness and how it limits me in life, I’m not the one for you, no matter how nice my ass is now.