I just love how often my brain acts like its own person and gives me zero agency in my own body so then when I have to decide on something myself I need someone else to do it for me.

Mental disorders really are just. Amazing.
I’ve been severely overstimulated. I hate using that word but it’s the best descriptor, unfortunately.
I don’t know why exactly, but part of it is that my brain randomly switches between not caring about things and extremely caring to the point—

I am a fan of some fictional characters, even as I know they are specifically made to appeal. It amazes me that my brain is picky about how the shapes look. That the character isn’t right, or that this character is lesser, even though the difference in appearances might as well be superficial.

Sometimes my only reason to exist seems to be to encapsulate and share what happened to me—what can happen to a person.
I hope that one day, I can accomplish it.

Ever since I was about 12 years old, I’ve struggled to see myself as a singular person. Each time I remember this, I feel immense shame.
It feels as something I should fix—I should just snap my fingers and be like the others, but I can’t. I don’t even know if I want to fix it with therapy or any—

No matter what I do in my free time, I end up asking myself, “why?”
I draw for fun, I sometimes spend hours on a drawing. But I don’t even know if I find enjoyment in it.
I play games, but the past few years it’s been more so a hobby I engage with every once in a while instead. Each time I want to—

As a child, I wished to disappear into an empty room, somewhere where I couldn’t bother others, where they couldn’t reach me.
I didn’t care about what would be available to me. Even if I had nothing, or just papers and a pen, I’d be happy.

I wonder what made me think that way.

The way people differ still manages to boggle my mind.
It’s something that’s introduced to you at a very young age, and yet, in some way I cannot comprehend it.

I understand people having different preferences, but there is a line somewhere there where my brain goes from accepting such difference—

I hope that my survival isn’t the only proof of my existence.