Sometimes I wish I never stopped taking antidepressants. I feel wound up, and I’m close to yelling at my mother again. Bad dreams of the ex and trouble at work. I don’t know how to deal with all that. It all just crashed on me right after my long holiday. This is life. Look between the lines, though.
There are evil faces in my head that I can’t face. They keep coming back too. I can’t help repeating the things I do. I scratch my face like a maniac–some allergic reaction. It seems that everything I do is a mistake, or I take too many risks. People approach me, asking for favours. They think they can get more out of you.
Bite, rip, hit, and scratch.
Put your hand on me–tell me it’s ok.