Where's the justice?

I don't know any more.

Which came first: me being weird and then the diagnosis or has the diagnosis made me weirder?
See, I did strange things before the diagnosis, but I feel stranger now.

Is it that I am overanalyzing and looking at everything to minutia?
Are the meds slowly disolving my brain to a lump of week old spam?

Why:
* Do i walk around in cricles in my bedroom?
* Do I talk to stuffed animals?
* The hell am I covering them at night so they're not cold?
* Am I counting so damn much?
* Am I not answering my phone?
* Am I sitting in a filthy room?
* Am I stalled on going outside?

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Where is the f*cking magic pill?

I can't possibly live like this for the rest of my life.

Where's the justice?

I've been good- good grades, no cheating in school, no cheating on boyfriends, I give, I give, I give, and I am the one that gets bipolar?

What about the high school bully that stabbed someone?
What about the ex that told me my breast and butt weren't big enough?
What about my former boss that was a fat ass liar?
What about italian liar?
What about my so called friend that assumed I was a whore because some greasy ass guy lied and said he slept with me when he didn't? He should know me. F*ck him and his herpe ass chick!

Why the hell aren't those dumb muthaf*ckers bipolar?

I swear if you tell me that you only get what you can handle, I will blow a f*cking gasket!

I have to go to work, but can't, and now I must call in once again and appear like the nutball I have become.

Where's the justice?
Where's the muthaf*cking justice?