Pushing Up Daisies

Am I afraid because
I don't want to return
to that foreboding place?
Where they pick you apart and
analyze your feelings
emotions
actions
words?
Is it fear that causes me to lash out
to scream at nobody
to hear everyone listen
to my words
my sentences
my meanings?
Do I want to return
to where we live by time and
a piece of paper tells us when to eat
when to sleep
when to breathe?
I hate the place full of feelings and questions.
They analyze me
tell me what's wrong with me.
Tell me why my brain is so screwed up inside.
Why I can't think
or function
or operate in a fully normal world.
They tell me to show what I feel
when I don't know what I feel.
They tell me to give feedback
and ask for feedback
and accept feedback.
But I hate it.
I hate critisism.
I hate being analyzed.
I hate being thrown about within people's words
like a bouncy ball.
Why do they tell me it's good for me?
What will happen after
I've become functional?
I'll get an education
then a job
a family
grandchildren.
Then I'll die.
Then there's nothing left.
Just my body.
No screwed-up mind.
No tortured soul.
Just dirt
and grass
and bugs
and flowers above me.