I can’t quite decide if I want silence or if I can’t stand it. Maybe the Silents are confusing me. It is a possibility, you know.
I’m starting to believe I’m crazier than I appear to be, even to myself. It’s a strange thing, being the only one who knows the extent of the convulsions my mind experiences, when for so long there have been people to know everything about me.
I thought I liked having these kinds of secrets. It turns out I hate it, but I don’t know how to do anything else. It’s rather depressing, when you think about it. I’m going to be trapped here for the rest of my life and no one can save me.
No, not save me. I don’t need to be saved, I’m not drowning, this is not a dramatic metaphor. No one can share it with me, I suppose. I thought I’d grown past that, but it seems that I will never be able to live as more than just one person. Which is terribly upsetting when you realize the full implications of it.
I miss being two people. I miss not being so strange all the time. It was nice for a while.
