[This is an IC book, whoever wrote this is classified.]
I'm in my own world, not in yours or theirs. It's mine, I shaped it. Shaped it out of my preferences, my weirdness shaped it out of all the things people have told me to keep to myself. It isn't odd, I don't have some crazy mental illness. I'm just a bit different, different in the way I talk, speak, hear and perhaps see things. What's so wrong?I've been told to seek help, in other words seek a well-thought out manipulation session to make me turn into everyone else. I say weird things, they aren't weird. You just think it's weird. It's perfectly normal for me. . .
Hanging out with friends. What's it like?I do it all the time, I don't know what I can call it though. I like them, I think I do. I don't know, they all look the same to me. They have weird voices, there is always series of events following when I'm with them. Climbing mount Everest, saving the world from alien invaders, stopping a farm from harvesting organs. Nothing unusual.
It's normal.
I've started talking to new people, they can't hear them. They aren't special enough to, these new friends of mine give me comfort. An unsettling feeling of warmth that warps around my body always aching for more whenever they are to leave, like a soft blanket placed over me that was heated up just the way I like it. Like a hot bath after a rashy cold day of winter, having my cold feet reach the warm hot soaking water, filled with authentic petals with unique smells that linger throughout my body even after the bath.
. . . .
Them. I dislike them, they just don't understand. They don't try to. Perhaps later on, they'll understand, they'll understand these voices, these people, these things, these experiences. . .
If. ..
Hivqsfw.