/mental illness/

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Here I am, sitting alone in my four-cornered room staring at candles. It's night time here in Ethiopia and I can't sleep, I toss and turn. Candle sticks in the dark serve as a reminder of bodies being burned. Four walls just staring at me. I'm paranoid, sleeping with my finger on the trigger of my Makarov pistol.
My mother is always stressing that I'm not living right, but I'm not willing to go out without having to brawl. You see, it's like everytime I close my eyes, I then immediately start to sweat and blood starts running down my nose. I feel as though someone is watching me, but I don't know who it is, so I'm stuck with constantly having to watch my back. I can see him when I'm beneath my sheets, but when I'm awake I can't no longer see him. He owns an "Obey" hat like I own. A nirvana shirt and levi's trousers like my own. Some might say that I'm overreacting but I couldn't care less since there is someone out to get me. I insert the magazine and cock my pistol when the wind blows and every thirty seconds, I peek out of my window. I investigate my house for traps that might have been set by him, and check my iPhone for taps. I'm currently staring at a poster of Jose Antonio Primo de Riviera and I can't express how fucked up it is when your mind is playing tricks on you.