Mania

Symptom 4

A/N: I know that there are probably a lot spelling/grammar mistakes in here, but please bare with me. I am not a professional writer. I am an English and Lit. major though so I do hope that it is up to at least that standard. BUT keep in mind that I 98% of the time write these stories at 3 am, so my writing skills are not at their peak. Thank you for your understanding, love youuu.

p.s. there is multimedia in this chapter, there are photos that show texts. It will be easier to understand if you can see them, but not a 100% necessary (I say about 75%).

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I FIND myself blaming stuff that is clearly not my fault on myself.

A fucking guilt-complex.

When anyone I remotely care about gets into any situation that is even remotely upsetting to them, I begin to feel as if I am to blame.

There could be many reasons as to why I am like this.

It could be because of parental issues or childhood trauma, but I have truly narrowed it down to one thing.

I am just fucked up in the head.

For some utterly fucked up reasons, unbeknownst to me, my brain decides to calculate that I am the reasoning behind every bad thing that happens in the world.

Friend breaks their arm?

My fault.

Mom gets the flu?

My fault.

High school bio teacher's house get's set on fire when I am states away?

100% all me.

You can't honestly tell me that's normal.

I talked to my mom about it once, and she claimed it ran in the family. That my complete helplessness to other peoples problems is something that we all do.

That doesn't make me feel any better mom.

That means we haven't figure out a way to fix my crazy.

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"YOU'RE TELLING me that she freakin left you, within what? A whole five seconds of that party?" Jasmine exclaimed loudly in the middle of our dinning hall.

"Yes Jaz, that is what I am telling you" I roll my eyes at her dramatic flare. Jaz had a tendency to get really round up at even the smallest inconvenience. If I was being honest though, it was one of the things I loved about her. She would constantly get mad at things for me, when I felt I didn't have a right to be angry in the moment but so badly wanted to.

She also knew how to make a statement with style, wearing bold colors, stylish glasses and the occasional fur coat (faux of course, being the activist she is). She somehow manage to pull off these looks. She wanted to break out of her stereotype. She, being a gay woman, lived in the stereotype that if you're a lesbian, you have to be manly. She didn't believe there was anything wrong with a masculine woman, in fact I remember her once stating that she doesn't mind a "masculine dominant woman in the bedroom." But Jaz didn't want to be put into a box. So she didn't everything in her power to put herself so far outside of it that the box was no where in sight.

Jaz is daring, funny, beautiful.

She, essentially, is my spirit animal.

"What a bitch. Wait- are you really sure she left you? You know the rules." She suddenly got serious, planting her butt in her seat firmly, leaning forward with eyes squinting at me in accusation.