Dear Mental Illness

Dear Nymphomania

We had a fun time, for a while, before I knew your name, and what you were doing to me.

But I want you to leave.

I’m tired of having to crawl away from a snoring, sleeping lump of person I hardly know, hating myself inside, because it is the only way I can feel pretty for a few seconds.

I hate that, even as I slink away, I already want more. That pretty-sex drug that stinks up my world. I hate you, nymphomania. I hate your claws, and I need you to leave me alone soon.

Or I don’t know what I’ll do.