• The people who tell you being a minority is a good thing are usually the people who are not in one. They tell you you are changing the world by being your own individual. They tell you they admire you. They fill you up with feelings of happiness and then as soon as other people are around they destroy your world.
    It's a strange thing wishing you were someone else. Hating yourself so deeply that you seek refuge in books and fairy tales. Creating your own simply because you can't take the pain any longer. Dreading with all your heart tomorrow. Knowing that the world laughs at you for caring. For trying to be your own person. For trying to change the world. Because in the real world... No one cares.
    I can't help, but feel partly to blame for other people's view of me. There hasn't really been a time when people called me “normal”, but let me ask you this: What is normal? Is it that tiny feeling you get when other people like you because you have no passion, no emotion, no individual. Is it that pathetic existence that keeps you going through the day. Is it so wrong to wish for something... something better? Call me mental, call me demented, call me what you will, but at the end of my life. It will be you I pity...
    The world needs a hero. Not some lunatic wearing spandex and a cape, but someone real. Someone different. I want someone I respect. I want someone who stands up for the world instead of pulling it all down. Doesn't the world know that it's destroying itself...? Doesn't it care...? I care. That's my problem... I care too much. How funny to think that the biggest problem in the world would be love... A bleeding love in which no side wins. No side thinks to themselves: “It's going to be okay...” Because it isn't going to be okay...