He taught me that it was me.

Not everything is about me.

My roommate has been off these last few days, and I've been in panic. Has my leaving of rinsed dishes in the kitchen sink pissed her off. I've been super depressed, and I communicated that to her. We tried to communicate everything we could before moving in together. Our boundaries and needs. Some shit to expect. I fucked up. I fucked up. She is pissed at me. She hates me. I fucking suck. My cat has been annoying too! I spiraled.

So today I talked to her. I asked her if there was anything she needed to talk about. I asked if she was upset with me. She said she's going through shit. I know she has anxiety and suffers with depression. I know she lost a friend to suicide right around this time of year. I know she is seeing family for the holidays. I know she is discovering herself right now. She has her own shit. 

I don't know why I think it's about me. Everything in my life, when someone is upset: It's because of me. Am I self-centered? Is that why I blog? Do I write because I love to write or because I want to feel tall? Am I a Narcissist? Am I a Narcissist who is attracted to Narcissists? Who did my dad make me? Who have I let myself become?

Am I bad like him?