Some nights I believe them, when they tell me that I am evil, when they call me an abomination. I have an abusive personality, I hurt the people I love. Some nights I believe that it is true. I remember all of the hard eyes of doctors and therapists turned on me when they said those words with too many syllables, pathologizing the wrinkles in my cerebrum. I remember the degrees and honors framed and hanging on the walls behind mahogany desks and leather chairs, degrees demanding me to trust the doctor because he knew more about these things than I did, he knows my behaviors better than I do.
So what have I to say but to list the things they tell me I want to do? I want to hit people, I want to cut myself, I want to binge, I want to spend more money than I have, I want to emotionally abuse my friends, and psychologically abuse my lovers.
But I don’t want to do any of that.