Woe is me… oh woe is me. 

Can you feel the drama?

Can you?

Heh.

Life right now is fucking-bastardly-bitching-SHIT.

Those of you that know me know that I try to refrain from swearing.

But I repeat.

Life is shit.

First Dr V diagnoses me with Tourettes because of my tics, after which my tics become so bad that my neck and face ache, my throat burns and I tic myself awake at night. I am exhausted beyond belief. He goes on holiday. I go into school to see my therapist, who tells me that I have deteriorated, and that she wants me to have an emergency psychiatric assessment. The last time I had one of those, I was diagnosed with four disorders.

I'm one of those disordered people.

But let's take a step back and look at it from my point of view. My disorders are my ORDER. And because they don't fit into the frame of waht you all consider to be healthy, I am smacked bang on my egg head with your labels.

Oh, I forget myself. Back to latest assessment, which happened the next day with the psychiatrist on call. He was a bit better. But my therapist was present, and I found it hard to lie.

So now. Now he knows about Fuss. And about the abuse. And he will give me more labels on the next appointment. He hinted at that.

You know what smacks of egg the most, my fellow friends?

He asked me to think about anti-psychotics.

You know.

At 17 years old, to be asked a question like that is so disheartening.

If I go on them, he told me straight up that the stigma is awful. Fuss is a bitch, and I hate her, but why should I be put on drugs to control her? My parents no longer trust me around my little sisters because of her.

More than anything that makes me just want to die.

The funniest thing is that I find this all quite amusing when I think of how long everything has been hidden for. Now my parents say to me 'oh, is that why…?' and 'was it Fuss when…?'

That makes me laugh. Like a demon.

I thought I had rights to privacy, but apparently not. The new psychiatrist will be informing my parents of the abuse I experienced. For some reason I thought that at 17, confidentiality meant something.

I was supposed to go back to school for the last two weeks. They have retracted their approval of this procedure on the advice of my therapist.

I don't even want to go in for my last exams. Imagine me ticing away in the exam hall.

They already think I'm a freak: I go to boarding school but don't board anymore, and disappeared suddenly late January. They know I had a break down. They know that I don't fit into their category of normal.

How to end this?

I could do one of those face things. 'Feeling blue'. Or 'crying'.

But I'm not.

I'm just ice cold inside.