To This Headache (first letter)

I don’t deserve you and I guess that’s the point.
It’s because I care too much, isn’t it?
Psychopaths hear voices in their heads. The torment is delusional (some of them really enjoy it). It’s different with this fire in my brain. If this is psychosomatic I must really hate myself. The relentless throbbing behind my eyes insists that you are real.
And it’s all just so tedious.
It’s like the worst of banalities defecating on my nerve endings.
What if I’d never cared about anything? Empathy and ambition, duty and responsibility, concern and fear — they’re all your accomplices. They were in on the planning stages.
My sensitivities have betrayed me.
I’ve woken up destroyed alive.