It won’t matter when I turn 38

I take my eyes off you and think: “It’s nice, I’m free!”, but then it’s: “Oh wait, my mind still there.” And all I’d like to say is: “What’s your problem? Why do you do this?” Think I just got crazy, and it seems like every word I could spit out off my mouth could be used against me, every step a mistake. I mean, I like you, but, for real, I hate to.
Now, I should fake it’s fine to act like: “Ok, I can stay close to you without thinking about blowing up my mind” or “I’m fine. You ruined my favorite songs, but I’m fucking fine.”
I’m overeating, overdrinking, over doing bulshits.
And today I thought stayind home would be better, but nothing’s better. There’s no better.
Dammit, why don’t you like me?