am I a parasite? | BPD experience №2

I'm an outsider everywhere. In my study group and among my friends, I'm out of place, like a foreign object stuck in someone's throat.

I watch those around me as if I were watching a film where I have no place. Their roles are important, written, while I, remaining behind the scenes, merely imitate life, repeating them.
I reach for bright and unpredictable people, like a flower for the sun. Even if its rays scorch me, I exist only because of them. I should be grateful to those who hurt me; pain reminds me that I'm alive, and I can imitate their hands, inflicting the same injuries on myself.
A flower is perhaps too poetic a comparison for a parasite like me. I am perhaps mistletoe or dodder, sucking the life out of those it latches onto. An even more accurate description would be bokila, which can imitate the leaves of its host. 
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The most unpleasant thing is to realize that my personality was shaped by people who neglected me. The character traits that irritate others so much were once taken from those I once loved.
I once told a girl who was in love with me something I had once heard myself say, in her place. I didn't understand it right away, but rather pulled the right words from my subconscious and repeated them syllable by syllable. "What you do isn't enough for me. These feelings are a burden to me. I have enough problems of my own."

...

I'm a ghost, scurrying through the crowd. 

I stalk whoever catches my eye, hiding in their shadow. I'm afraid they'll notice me, notice that I'm worthless and empty. I'm afraid they'll start studying me, my face and body, afraid they'll want to get to know me better and ask about my desires. I'm ashamed and disgusted to think that I could be loved by anyone.

I'm a perpetually hungry monster.

I've been loved more than once, but it wasn't enough. How can you even think you know me? If you truly knew me and my thoughts, you couldn't love such a monster. Are you pretending? Are you trying to gain my trust, only to get bored and abandon me? You wish me harm, I'm sure. I hate you.

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I am a body without skin. 

Any sharp touch hurts me. I know this, but I still strive to hug my owner as tightly as possible. My arms, like ivy branches, embrace them. It hurts so much.