Honestly? I would be better off if I had committed suicide by the time I was 8. Before I was 8, I rarely paid attention to the people around me---I took my existence and the world for granted. But when I became 8 or 9 years old, something changed. With every passing year, I became more and more aware of just how different I was from those around me (including those who were thought to be most like me), and I became progressively alienated and isolated from other people. My thoughts, feelings, actions---they were too strange. Now I live a largely manufactured, artificially improvised existence. Nothing about my existence or this world seems natural to me. I have no inherent aptitude for living---I always feel out of joint, uneasy in my own skin.
A gloomy, bizarre nightmare pervaded by a nagging sense of wrongness--that's what life is. And I can't forget anything either. Especially the bad things. Always the same abominable ghosts everyday. I should have ended this disgusting farce a long time ago. And yet here I am...