I can't believe it actually happened to me.

I was just standing there. I realized a lot of things, but never this. You would'nt know what I'm talking about.

Not really.

My dyslexic mind.

I could have chosen alot of things. But that was my biggest mistake.

I hate it so much it brings tears to my eyes. I get this growing feeling, right in the back of my mind.

Tears fall, without realizing, but I still don't understand.

If I can't find what I seek within myself, I'll never find it without.

That's easy enough. But when I don't know what I'm looking for...

Identity... every time it happens, everytime feel I'm someone, I get brought down.

I duck my head and pretend I don't get it, but who can ignore that?

No one. It's not something that can be ignored. They don't even understand.

I thought...What if it were to switch. Fingers twitch at the vision. Rage bubbles to the surface, no one notices. They don't either. They can't tell.

You don't get it.

If I were to say everything I wanted, If I were to reveal myself to you...

I would'nt exist.

You don't understand, do you?

Dyslexic mind, indeed.

Sometimes...I dunno, I wonder if things could somehow go differently. Maybe I could STOP the pain that never ceases, and I could break free from my insecurities. But then I remember all the secrets I keep, and the past I hide, even from the people who think they know me the best.

I know most of the time people put on a facade, to hide themselves, but only because I do too. We're only human after all. So what do we do? We play this mindless game, where you, yeah you, are forced to run around a prove that you're gonna be something. And that something, you have a limited choice over what it is. It's obvious there's so much more than that. I often wonder why people let themselves be manipulated like that. So if I tell the story right, it'd have to be the truth. The truth can be twisted so many ways, it all depends on the pawn.

She could'nt believe it. What had happened anyway? It was just a phonecall wasn't it. How DARE they, she thought. The memoir, something that didn't even belong to her. The secret message planted, soon to be forgotton soon, but never . What's this? Of course I'm ripped away from everything I thought I knew. Later still. I never knew this feeling, so akin to fear...but not exactly there. Hidden away from them, feeling so unwanted, a new emotional breakdown every time she's forced to remember you.

Yet again, who the HELL are you to assume you can come into her life and make everything better with a simple, "life goes on"? Exactly. You're no one. Just like me. I'M no one. But in my eyes, a different place every time, a search for so many ways to escape. There's never really anyway to go. And I can never really say what I want to directly.

Later still. What's this now? Some sort of new feel of acceptance? How long can this go on until I'm forced into reality again. Good things don't often happen to people like me. I do some of the most deadly things every day, without realizing, and no one notices.

What if I took the plunge. The desperate plunge, to escape starving insanity, mind boggling mimicking despair.

You just fall into their bottomless pit, into that disgusting game again.

And I pity you.

Me?

Well, what do you think?

I take what I can get. But I should be so lucky, make the story seem so much less than what it really is. I can make it rival some of the worse, take a deadly turn and then plunge back into life again.

Have you ever been a breath close to death before, thought about suicide, when you definitely have no right to?

Think of it this way. Your every breath is'nt your own, but the one who guides you, and you never get to see them. Even though it's yourself.

Your mind is split in too, one doing the acting one sitting back, enjoying the show.

It happened again, and it hurt so bad. I could'nt stop the feeling of being pulled into bliss, and yanked harshly back to reality again...and I could'nt shake it, promptly bursting into tears, with a pain so real, realizing everything is just some sick joke.

And longing. Longing for things and hoping they'll come to be.