By
Maéva Lecoq
I sometimes wonder if I have some kind of mental illness. That my wires aren’t wired right. I get so… down. So sad. So I-don’t-give-a-fuck. So down on myself. Not all the time, just sometimes. Normally coinciding with that time of the month.
My perception is just so twisted.
Sometimes I want to just roll over and die. Other times hide away.
I know the only person who can help me is me. And I’m in rough shape.