I'm not depressed, I just wanted to get into character for a story-character with depression and I was pleased with the results (so pleased that I forgot to stay in character!)

why should we care if you think we're weird? We cared too much what the 'populars' thought and look where it got us in the end. We deluded ourselves that they mattered when really they are the dirt and filth beneath our feet. They are the users, abusers, the dangerous ones but they are powerless without us, the once-were clamouring wannabes. If you're not a glass rod with the all the same fancies and tastes and the emotion of an icicle then you're labelled 'weirdo.' We haven't 'got it' it's got us, devouring us from the inside out. it's not something we 'have' it's something we start to become.

The End

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