I have had these days. I have raged out and hid under the blanks. I have lashed out and screamed, I’ve driven far past where I was supposed to go because I couldn’t deal with being fine. I wanted to be outside the fine box and cling to my illness. Because your clear thoughts where my train tracks of my derailment.
Such a powerful piece.
Don’t tell me how well I’m doing; ask me how I am.
Don’t tell me how far I’ve come (I know that myself); ask me where I am now.
Don’t ask me how I’m fucking FEELING because I can’t even find my feelings. I don’t even have any. Real people have feelings but I’m not a real person. I’m a bunch of thoughts going around in a circle.
Don’t try to make me be fine. I’m clinging to my illness because at least I know what it is. I’m childishly resisting fine. I’m being unreasonable because being reasonable and strong and functional has worn me out. I don’t want you to push me over there before I’m ready. I’ve been pushed enough.