Dysphoric:

Here I stand. Gripping my knife as reality loses hold. Darkness fills my cup. Drink it up before it overflows. Where I reside these spirits roam. Shadows of my life. Reflections of my catacomb. Am I a human? Or am I a Ghost? No one really knows. I've never felt like a man. Never fitting in. Left alone with my suffering. Looking in a pane of glass with one side painted black. I'm not the same as what's reflected back. Not the same. I'm more important than the one painted on the glass. Even though the glass is cracked. I don't reflect upon that. After dark. Insomniac. Burning photographs of who they think I am. The person who they thought I ought to be, isn't even real to me. God damn. They don't even understand.