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Nights are the hardest. During the day, I’m too distracted to think. But when everyone’s gone to bed and there’s nothing on TV, I lay awake for hours. I spend the day perfecting my normality, and when I’m alone, my mind destroys me.
I feel evil, and at the same time I feel good. My mind creates things that I know are not real. I lose my sense of self on a daily basis. My emotions and thoughts are magnified. And I get scared thinking all people are like me. Violent and crazy, but still functioning somehow. Still seemingly normal. And my reflection is odd. Everything is cracked. What am I even so sad about anymore? The way my life went, or that the way my life went made me crazy? Either way, it only makes me feel weak.
My history teacher asked me what the hell my problem was. He knows I’m smarter than my grades. He can tell by my essays. Why aren’t I ever in class? He wanted to know. Why can’t I just suck it up?
It’s because I know I’m sick, and I don’t want to do anything about it. It’s calmed down for now, but I’m not going back. I want it in me. It’s the only thing that proves that I’m real.