There are those nights where I just sit and think to myself, what if I am crazy.
The multitudes of conversations that exist between myself and imaginary people, real people, hypothetical people, take my sanity into question. Do I live so much in my own little world that most of my conversations with people exist only in my mind? And that everything I do that I believe is normal behavior, could be considered nothing short of insane, if not eccentric at the least.
Am I crazy or just bizarre? Or is sanity acknowledgment of one's nature?
I firmly believe that the one evening I went mad was a monumental breaking point in my atom-sized, short life. An explosion from too much compression. Microwaves. Napalm. A baking soda volcano. I haven't been the same since. I challenge you to rebut my statement.
Alas, I am thankful. This post-explosion mindset has renewed many friendships but also loosened quite a few. I aim to pull those strings, to pull them back to me, but I am always so busy in my own little world.
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