I command you not to kill yourself; “Don’t.” Because I say so so not today. Not tomorrow. And not ever.
J’te jure qu’elle est malade; la maladie. J’te jure, elle est malade.
Or, the know-how and when to draw the line aka enough is enough.
—A selfish bliss.
They keep talking about a tree,
Cornered away and shunned this way,
If they only knew the whole story,
They would scream in disappointment;
“How it was never about an adultry.”
Bottom line I am not like you, and I will never be like you. What is good for you might not be the best for me, and what would be healthy to you might not be so great to me. Let me deal with the tobacco smell for a little peace of my mind; it’s okay, don’t be so not envious—by the way, I came too short for Rosh Hashanah this year; it’s okay, don’t be envious.
Guess what. I have paranoid squizophrenia, gender dysphoria, and I meet all 9 traits of borderline personality disorder found in the DSM-5. Not promiscuous. I am technically exempt from ever working again due to PTSD, triggers, stress-related patterns, anxiety, traumas, etc. But, instead I choose to work it up from home on my own pace and rhythm following my passions. In the meantime, I am supported by the health care system every month so I can survive paying for my rent, bills, food, etc. I am not scared of you. Bitches.