Digging myself a hole to bury my mask.

Why do I not allow myself to just be happy?
Do I seek out to subconsciously sabotage strategies to chop my chances and cut the to the quick? 
I flap. 
I panic.
I don the mask of mirth and make light of the situation to diffuse tension and suspicion and awkward questions which could result in confrontation; altercation; 
I simply submit and lie down behind a wall of wasted witticism wanting to waylay the woe.
I am the self fulfilling prophecy that fails to allow the prophet to fulfil himself.
I race to reassure others with undeniable logic and truthisms yet somehow fail to convince myself that I am qualified to be allowed the gift of conversation.
I strive for attention then don't know what to talk about.
I crave acceptance then know not what to do with it.
Yet with all that said;
Despite being painfully aware of my own failings and tormented by them;
 I still punch above my weight. 
I will continue to fight tooth and nail for my soul and my soul mates.
The chosen few who impart upon me compassion and trust and truth and honour.
The only fire that burns hotter in my soul than my fury is my passion, but it's a struggle to maintain the ferocity of the flame as the fuel fades fast and frequently needs filled.
I expose my inner self to you from behind my grubby macintosh of sharp quips, like a flasher of the psyche, in the vain hope that I shall get some form of gratification but know that I run the risk of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
I crave but I am craven.
I hope but feel hopeless.
I haven't lost but feel like I'm losing my self in a mindslide of concern and confoundment and chaos where my charms are a choke chain caught and being constricted.
I want you to know me but I don't believe I truly know myself.
I love you more than I love myself.
I fear myself more than I fear anything else as I know I am my own worst enemy and I will set myself up to fail.
I need you to stop me from destroying myself in a deluge of desperation as the darkness decends to the depths.
I go on too much.
I witter and I waffle scared of silence as it allows me too much time to think about what ifs and whys; loneliness and sighs; betrayal and lies; emptiness and goodbyes.
I keep digging even after I have worn the shovel to a hoe and have splintered the shaft until I have more blister than hand to hold it.
I express myself inappropriately and often immaturely.
My love, when unleashed can be disorientating and smothering; driving people away as if the tsunami of emotion could wash them out to sea.
I have chosen my company.
I hope that they choose me back.
This is not the end of anything but I wish I could let the old me go and rise like a pheonix from my ashes as I lay smouldering.
I may be dysfunctional but I'm not defunct.
I will carry on carrying on and carry you when I can and when you allow me to care.
My rambling is not allowing me to wrap up well, as I feel there is more I can say but it would just be repetition by proxy; different words for the same things.
I shall continue until the day I care not and on that day I shall cease.