Nov. 3rd, 2008

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Dear Erica (and if you snoop around on my computer when I'm not home and actually read this, I don't care - but I'm pretty sure you don't),

I'm not crazy. I never thought I was crazy. None of my family or friends ever thought I was crazy. None of my doctors, including my psychiatrist (who doesn't give a shit about me, lol) think I'm crazy. "Crazy" and "angry" are two different things: "crazy" is organic. "Angry" is environmental. And right now, you are the environment.

I know you've been in my medicine basket looking for something to get high. I know you have. Cause I count my pills, and shit is missing. So, one, flying into a rage over this isn't "crazy." I have that shit because I need it, and you CANT have it because you DONT need it. And believe me, you don't want to need it.

And two, nothing in that basket is to be referred to as "crazy meds." I don't take "crazy meds" because I'm not crazy. There is an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer in there, and I do take them both, but this does not make me "crazy" so don't dismiss me being angry over you messing with my pills as "oh that's just Lara being crazy."

I guess I didn't make this clear when you moved in: those pills rule my life. Don't touch them. Don't "borrow" them and don't mess with them or play with them. I don't care how pathetic this makes me sound. Don't even think about it. Call me obsessed. Call me a junkie if you must.

BUT I'M NOT FUCKING CRAZY.

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Lara I.

October 2012

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