Psychologically Broken

Psychology says I'm broken for loving you.
 
Instagram and Facebook wanna sell me all the toxic positivity shit, generalizing a situation like mine.
 
It's 5:25am, and I can't sleep. And I'm giggling at how cute you are, with your nerdy glasses and with your mysterious, black hair. Takes me back to that day in January that I was lying in the mental hospital bed, imagining you in bed with me like I've done before with you pestering me for laughing too much with you. Loved that the day I got out, you were there with a text telling me how you hoped I was staying warm. I eventually told you that I wanted you back in my life whether we were friends or more, and bam! You asked if I wanted to hang out that next day. Keep feeling like I'm in a dream I can't wake up from.
 
Of course, I had to mess up things again by saying damaging things. But as always, I forgive myself. Haven't seen you since. Always missing you, but at least I can say I'm that insane girl who would no longer be bothered by you having a girlfriend. I know who I am and am confident in that. I'm not better nor worse. I just am.
 
I tried texting you what I really felt without the extra damaging baggage. We'll see if you ever reply.
 
I know I'm not supposed to go after someone so damaged by trauma and mental illness that they're emotionally unavailable, but I am too, god damn it. Listening to Boyfriend by Ariana Grande right now while typing. Damn, these pop songs seem to capture what I'm feeling in my situation.
 
We're not even together and yet so many people wanna call you my ex. Been told we should get married. Been told we even sound like a marriage.
 
Sigh. Confusing friendzone it is. Well, friends who can't get their hands off each other ever.
 
You still want me, don't you?