A,
you pick up a pen with black ink and position it between your fingers. Once you begin you cannot stop. You don't want to stop. You bleed out every question and answer that you come up with inside your head after chatting with me. You managed to tame and handle the monster that lived within you only because you became that monster. You allowed anger to consume you. And now you're untamable. You should fear being called a poser because you read heaps of books and never bother to memorize the author's name. But you don't. You have oceans of apathy and a puddle of empathy. You are a god damn paradox. She was right. But was she right about everything else? About you being more than people perceive and see? About your diagnosis? Perhaps. But none of it matters when you're making the most of it. You learned to be content with what you have and are given. You learned that things are enough. Why can't you see that when you stare at the mirror? Because you aren't a thing, you aren't something. At the same time, you aren't nothing. Humor your madness like it helps. Numb it with those bottles like it helps. Silence me and that will help.
- A
