I'm writing this on my smartphone, so bear with me if this comes out a little chaotic. More chaotic, really. I just really need to vent right now, because caging myself completely and denying my impulses and urges, without giving in to anything, is the only way I can control them. All or nothing, with no inbetween.

To be blunt, I'm losing my mind. There is so much I'm questioning, right now; so much I no longer have certainty in. Not only do I have no idea who I am, I have no idea what I am. Am I just using all these diagnoses as an excuse for my behavior? Am I just trying to find an excuse for me being a lazy, self-indulgent, self-important, ball of emotional immaturity and refusal to accept responsibility for anything? Are my memory loss and warped perception just mental gymnastics and self-serving for me to believe I'm something I'm not? This knot in my stomach, the audiable pulsing veins across my body, and my bloodshot, sunken eyes just my body trying to force me to realize what's wrong with me? That I'm just a spoiled, selfish, emotionally volitile sociopath? That's what I've been told and I think I'm starting to believe it.

Am I wrong for wanting somebody to talk about the immense pain inside of me? It reaches the point of dependency; I need constant affirmation, even for the simplest tasks. Everything from the stupidest little insecurities to my hardest life decisions requires polling and seeking from others. At the same time, I'm pushing people away and avoiding as much contact as possible. It's like an anxiety attack everytime I leave my room. I'm lonely and miserable, but I can't handle other people. I exist in that space between insane and insecure; still in reality but so neurotic that there's no place for me here. Just to alieve this tension for a short time, why is that wrong? Because, I've forced people to. Maybe I don't have empathy, maybe I can't reach what empathy I do have because of this tirade of feelings I need to keep in check. But, I put so much of my burden on others it burns them out and drives them to leave me, to hate me. Sometimes, I just need to drown this out, to put this constant misery out of mind. Sometimes, I just want to get high. Now I pop pills, just so I can numb it.

I'm angry. All the time. For no reason. I'm always angry, and I hate it. When I think back on my life, all I can remember are the bad memories. There are good ones, but all the focus is on the bad, because my fear and pain outweigh my happiness. Constantly told what to think, what to feel, what to believe, and put in my place. Whatever I feel is wrong and I have no right to feel that way. What I think is wrong and that's the end of it. What I believe is heresy and I'm terrible for it. Even when people ask, they dismiss and invalidate whatever I feel, think, and believe. Constantly, I'm told what seems to be how wrong I am and the factuality of my incorrectness. In my childhood, my family would fly off the handle at the drop of a hat, become violent and unreasonable, all for no discernable reason. My life has been surrounded by anger. As a teenager, I became angry. Furious. Frighteningly so. But my anger is wrong and I have no right to it. Yeah, I know.

What's pissing me off is how I'm just not good enough for everyone I want approval from. My grandfather could care less if I lived or died. My mother refuses to understand and simply doesn't care, because she thinks I'm just a genius with an inflated ego who throws tantrums. My father refuses responsibility, lies to me, dismisses me openly, refuses to communicate, has no respect for me, and doesn't think I have value besides being his vicarious chance to live young again. There's no talking to the man and I just can't deal with him anymore. The girl I loved played with my feelings, relished the power she had over me, and openly expresses disgust, even after I poured my heart, soul, and spirit out to her, when we know so much about each other, been through so much together, and even knows about my damaged pysche. My best friends are all gone, just... gone. Why am I not good enough?! I try so damn hard to please you; I've changed the only parts of my personality I actually have to make you happy. Nothing. Nothing is good enough.

I still can't get her out of my head. I keep mumbling her name under my breath and playing situations out in my head like a broken VHS. I feel bad for what I did, but I'm not the only one who ****ed up. Just the only one who admits it. What's worse is that I can't REMEMBER anything. My recollection is gone. For all I know, she did admit it, but got over the guilt a lot faster than me. You know, she probably did. She's cried in my arms, and I hers. Something that's been driving me crazy is that I can't say with any level of certainty that I really did love her, and not just went obsessive with my overwhelming emotions towards a shadow of a person. I love you, I hate you, I can't live without you, I can't stand being near, don't leave me, I want nothing to do with you. Pushing and pulling from one moment to the next. She couldn't give me what I needed and I don't fault her for that. I'm angry because she let us go as far as we did. I was teased, led on, and given utter intimacy, but denied any gratification. How do you stick your hand down someone's pants, but say you aren't anything more than just friends? How do you sleep in the same bed, three quarters naked, with someone but say you have no intention for sex? How do you feel abandoned and betrayed, say you trust someone more than anything in the world and then refuse to even hear an apology when he's suffered the consequences for his actions?! How?! She said she trusted me not to take advantage of her, that I was too concerned with sex at the end of everything, and that she had done so much for me and I so little for her. Citing the stupidest petty things, when I had done the same, just not kept track of it for guilt trips. Yeah, I was horny as Hell, but when someone cockteases you for six months and refuses to ever finish what she starts, you'd be too. I never took advantage of her. When she was in need, I did what I could. I even gave her my blessing when she met a new guy and got with him the day after we spent a night in bed together. Sex is weird for me. I'm both repulsed by promiscuity and desperate for relief. Nothing boiled my blood more than knowing she was in bed with the jackass who treated her like Hell and she enjoyed driving me insane with her body. The mere fact I went as far as I did is a serious sign of trust. I trusted her with everything. I gave her a piece of my soul. My perspective is warped and my opinions, memories, and really any sense regarding our history, the details of events, and whatever feelings I have cannot be trusted. At all. Even I know my connection to reality is weak. Everything has to be filtered through this superconducting insanity of emotion that I have to bind more securely then Odin bound Fenrisulfr. With the same destructive consequences when released, too. I don't even know if I really loved her or if those feelings were my madness. I don't know how right these memories are and why they bother me so much. For the life of me, I don't know I focus so much on this. It makes no sense, but my life revolves around it.

When I said I suffered the consequences of my actions, I wasn't joking. I've been in chronic pain since March, which comes and goes, and me never knowing if the peace will last. The stronger my physical and emotional exertion, the worse the pain. Chronic fatigue has left me drained and barely able to function. I'm constantly getting oral infections because what teeth I have left are breaking apart, causing me even more pain. There's half a dozen reasons for my oral situation, from apathy to a genetic disorder to a history of anxiety. I vomitted six times a day for two years because I couldn't deal with my anxiety. By June, I wasn't able to stand under my own power, relying on a cane to deal with balance, support, and to compensate for the damaged muscle tissue in my right knee. I was starving, constantly going to doctors, and in terrible pain. Slept for twenty hours at a time and damn near died from the various sicknesses. That's not exaggeration, when I was in the E.R. they told me the blood infection was going to kill me and it's amazing it hadn't already. I lost all my money on pills, medical bills, and rent. My family wanted nothing to do with me, hated me, even. They outright said I was a dangerous sociopath that wasn't welcome. I was losing weight, constantly sweating out infection, viruses, and exertion of the heart. Forty pounds, gone. Two months of my life I can barely remember because I was sleeping through all of it. I lost all my friends. Nobody wanted anything to do with the obsessive mood-swinger who couldn't be predicted or controlled, the disgusting self-centered asshole who couldn't keep his promises. I lost everything. It led me to suicide and I even failed at that. When my grandmother finally took me in and showed me the first kindness I'd seen in a long time, I was barely sane, sick beyond reason, and effectivly crippled. If that isn't the consequences of my ****ing actions, then nothing is. I almost died, lost everything important to me, and my body up and quit. I'm still recovering, too.

The knot in my stomach from anxiety, self-hatred, and pain is making me nauseas and keeping me from eating. The physical exhaustion is exacerbating my emotional exhaustion from trying to hold all of this inside of me, because if I let it lose in the analog world, I will lose everything again. I don't have much, but what I do have is mine - it's important to me. My friends, what little family I have, my intelligence, and what little respect I've managed to hold onto. How can I not hate myself? I have no sense of identity. I'm not some abstract concept I've tried defining myself by, some title or pretentious philosophy a high school sophomore thought was brilliant: I'm nothing. I'm absolutely nothing. My emotions fluctuate between ridiculous extremes of anger, passion, jealousy, infatuation, bitterness, grief, and sorrow faster than most people blink. Whatever causes that, it means I can't trust what I feel. Anything related to emotion is intertwined with mental illness. Despite my intelligence and potential, I've done nothing with it. Wasted it. Slacked off, lazed about, entitled to so much I thought it'd come naturally. I was wrong. There is so much about me that deserves hatred. My utter lack of selfcontrol even keeps other people from getting close. Even the ones I let in.

I am so utterly exhausted. I'm tired and that's the only word for it. I'm tired of all the pain, the weakness, the exhaustion, tired of losing myself, tired of being a slave to my emotions, tired of my emotions fluctuating without explanation, tired of being alone, tired of pushing everyone away, tired of having no control over myself, tired of not knowing what's real, tired of holding back tears, tired of the tears not coming, tired of being starved for attention, approval, validation, and acceptance, tired of being tired. Nothing in my life makes sense and I can't even cope with the simplest problems. There's nothing special or especially difficult about my existence and yet it overwhelms me. Why am I so weak? Why do I let people treat me like I'm worthless? Why do I treat myself like I'm worthless? Where is the sense of pride, confidence, and worthiness that I ought to posses? There are papers and experiences that say I'm a genius, so why is this so ****ing hard?! Shouldn't I be smart enough to act on logic and reason?! Shouldn't this IQ let me remember things, retain information, and process the data of the day without an explosion of self-destructive emotion. Everything I am is emotion. Did they lie to me? Am I really just a shmuck without a sense of smarts who's weaker than everyone else? Am I the bottom of the totem pole? The last in the pecking order? The omega male no woman could love, not even his mother? If I'm so smart, why do I still hurt so ****ing much?! I'm an idiot, to think that I could change anything. Life is such because it is. Within the infinite parallel universes, I exist in the box with the dead cat. Somewhere in a universe far away, I'm probably happy - but that doesn't do me much good. In this reality, I'm miserable.

Can anyone of you tell me this is right? Affirm to me that I'm not completely out of my mind? If we all have the same disorder, than some of you have to know how I feel, right? They say I'm an Idealist, a Dreamer, a Healer. For a long time I've wanted to be special. To make an iimpact on this world. Once upon a time, when I was younger, I wanted to set it on fire so it could know my pain, maybe leave it colder - darker, to experience the nothing as I do. Then I thought, why not change things for the better? Prevent people like me from being created. To be a Hero. Clearly, I ****ed up. Turns out I'm less like the nigh-Messianic Luke Skywalker, and more akin the tragic, almost Byronic, "hero" of his father. The obligitory Star Wars metaphor is done. That's what keeps me somewhat able to believe. Using metaphor, similie, adege, proverb, and analogy to make sense of everything in this abstract, undefinable world of ours. Please, can any of you help me help myself? Maybe I just need a hug. I'll accept anything, really. Even if you want to tear me a new one, I'll welcome it. Just share what you can discern from the chaos of my mind.