Please me.

"This planet is killing me. But I need the pain, i'm addicted to it. I feel less than dead, less than a vegetable when nothing is hurting me, I need it like drug addicts need their drug, the pain is real, and it's getting stronger."
It was always me, I have always been my own sanctuary. I used to ask myself if I was cursed, but then I'd stop asking because the answer was clearly obvious: Yes.
I've discovered that I'm scared... of being scared. 
Do I want to be frightened?
The writer is playing with me, changing my feelings, adding more of them or taking them all away. What am I?
This is not right, I feel too mature and too innocent at the same time. 
I will never be normal, that's the only fact I know for sure, and it's a relief.
Feeling superior and inferior at the same time, better and worse... the best or the worst.
Having ten personalities or having none.
The other creatures want to know me better, and I wouldn't let them even if I could. 
Am I the last human on Earth or the first human on Mars?
I'm tired of pretending, I have to be sure that hurting others won't have any consequences back home. You know what I do. I hurt others, I enjoy it, more than I should, but they deserve the pain.
This is a message to you, Dear Writer, my friend, my creator, my lover... please make this life on this planet easier for me, help me, I want you here. I want you back. I want you.