I'll tell myself to hurry up and finish everything at once, but instead all I'll do is exhaust myself
And so I'll sit around not doing anything with that time I crave so desperately
I need to stop psyching myself out and I really hate the fact that I'm unable to adapt
And my only reigning thought is how everything's my fault
I wanna try to overcome these feelings of dissociation,
I wanna try to get better at not taking every word as an attack
But it gets to the point where I'm no longer in control
And it gets to the point of being inescapable and
I don't have very much longer to get my shit together
No, I don't have very much longer to get my shit together
No, I don't have very much longer to get my shit together
No, I don't have very much longer to get my shit together, oh
When my only pastime is getting angry at coworkers in my head
Or sitting on the toilet for extended durations and I know that old adage, the rhyme
Where the boss makes a dollar and I, a dime, but therein lies the caveat; that I'm still the one sitting on the pot. And at the end of each and every day, I'll try to manifest a new personality to distract me from my disposition
And just act like those traumas never happened and the only self-care I enact to prevent me from
Having a heart-attack is a textbook dissociation that acts as a form of self-preservation