Fine. Here it is. The story of my entire life. You asked for it, so here it is... I was born into a good family, yes, why not start at the beginning, that's when it started. I can't remember ever feeling right about the world around me. For some reason it always felt a little off. A little about me. My attention span is very good, because I was a sickly child who spent a lot of time in bed with nothing to do I learned to make stuff up for myself. I think that spending ones childhood alone in bed all day every day was what made my mind so strong and my body so weak. As I said, it was always a little 'off' for me. I would talk about the bike dream with my mom where I'm riding down a hill and the brakes stop working. She would talk about her dreams and how safe and at home she felt when she woke up in an attempt to make it better. Instead I realized that's the feeling I got when the dream would start. Like I was back home in my mind away from this false hell of pain and sickness, all the vomiting and cramps made life suck. But then in around fourth grade I watched the matrix. I realized how theoretical this place is. I have always been an actor and a good liar so I made up a range of people to be so to limit social contact at school and retreated into my thoughts to figure this out. I did. It's called the Theoretical Universe and it broke my mind to find it. I won't get into that time, it's not something I will ever talk about. Nobody can ever understand what it's like to be without a body. It's not a human sensation that can be felt. To be seeing through eyes you don't control. What I will say is that afterwards I am a shell of the already broken person I was. I went through phases. The oblivion theory, this is it, after life there is nothing, and that went as you'd expect it to go for a 9 year old. Terribly. I became heartless, emotionless. I was addicted to happiness and I got it however I could. If I had known that breaking someone's skull with a hammer would've made me happy I would have done it just like that. Then depression really started getting noticeable. Until now it had never been bad, but in middle school life became a joke. I didn't care. I just thought about philosophy all day. Since it was all in my head I did homework way more and got all A's. Then in grade 8 it stopped. I woke up. I made my first real friend. I talked to people and socialized, but then something shifted again. My mind cracked again and all of a sudden I was awkward, I was making weird comments and hurting people and pushing them away and then they were gone and I was alone and it was quiet again. And I remember going to the park and looking at the clouds and smiling. And then people started picking on me. More than normal. I was always shunned and ignored but now it was like they hunted me. And I didn't know why. And this anger built in me. And this other person changed without me. The one I had made in my head. And all of a sudden the anger swept me away and what had I done. This idiot, this disgrace of a kid was on the ground and bleeding with broken and twisted limbs and I just kept beating until they stopped moving and it felt so good. And then I woke up. And I was sad because it was all in my head. I wanted to do it, but this kid was sick for a week. I saw him as more of a plaything, an asset. Like I see all people. Just things, objects. I didn't care. When I did see him, he did it again, this filth pushed me over but this time I pushed back, with all my anger and hatred, not just at him but at everyone because something inside me wanted to be loved and when it wasn't it hated everything for that. And so I pushed him down. And there I was, taking out my metal water bottle to re-enact the scene I ha lived. But then, as I put a shoe on his windpipe and brought the bottle down, corner firs towards his skull I stopped. And this person inside me fell away and the old me who had been watching in horror came through and I stopped the bottle an inch from his forehead and said; "I will not be so gracious next time." Of course, I lied, I would be kinder, because that demon was gone. And I kept going. My empathy waned again and I found myself once again misanthropic. I watched Black Books. Now this series somehow helped me see how silly I was. I was Bernard. I laughed, it was so helpful. And yet I still can't love. My parents are always off working and my brother is my opposite. I have no friends, only enemies. I wish someone would tell me every day that they would be sad if I died, but nobody does. I have tried so long to accept romance. I can't. Even the thought of holding hands nauseates me. I know now that I'll never find that kind of love. Not even if I try my whole life. As for friendship, I can get by. I don't need people to be happy. Some part of me wants it, but another rejects it. That's how I lost my friends. It depresses me to be around people and yet I need to be around them to be happy. That is my story. I left out a lot of parts in the middle when my depression peaked but you get the idea. Thanks for listening. I think I will get rid of reddit after this.