Why are things created when their so imperfect? Why do humans exist if we're so imperfect? Why do I exist to be different? My name is Valorie Evans, everyday I ever since I was little I could never shake the feeling that I was different. Different from my parents, my classmates or just the random people on the street. I know that all people are unique in their own way but I felt like I was... different in a bad way. Somedays I would black out and I wake up seeing beautiful paintings in my room, other times, I would go back to my senses seeing blood on my hands and one of my classmates on the floor, bleeding. I ask my parents if anythings wrong with me but everytime I ask they try to dodge the question. So I just let it slide, I shrugged it off as nonesense and continued my life but... one day had changed my entire life forever. During school an idiot named Patrick was picking on my friend Adrian. I didnt like it so I tried pushing him away, but he didnt like it and grabbed me by my collar and called me a freak straight to my face, I snapped and blacked out of my consciousness. I woke up to a scene of frightened students surrounding me, a horrified Adrian holding onto my shoulders, Patrick in the floor screaming covering his face with blood all over the floor... and an eyeball in each of my hands stained with blood. That night my parents finally told me... that I was bipolar, that one pole is my average teen self, but the other one is a skilled, sensetive, intelligent, artistic, creature. My other pole was responsible for all those black outs, those paintings and all the blood I spilt. I went to my bed crying myself to sleep knowing all of the horrors that I've done. And even though my sane pole felt all the guilt and emotions, my other pole probably felt nothing. The worst part that happened... I no longer blacked out when my other half took control.
