I’ve always believed that people are fundamentally separate.  I envision us as tiny pilots in our own skulls, desperately slamming buttons and pulling levers to make our bodies walk and talk and touch.  I try to tell people about the fact that I live in my head.  Before I can say “and I think you do, too,” they start giving advice on how to “get out” and “live.”  I don’t know how to talk about it without someone hearing “please help me” instead.  I don’t know why it sounds like an insult to be in your head.  I love my head.  It’s where my brain is.

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Make Me Understand

“No one understands.”

I hate that sentence. It calls up the last three brain cells I have left from high school, when I said those words constantly. When I hear it, I remember how much time I spent hating others for ignoring me just because I wasn’t talking to them. That’s the problem. If no one understands, you’re not being very clear. You’re probably not even being a little clear. You might even get off on being cryptic, because you think it’s the same thing as “deep,” whatever you think that means. I only say these things because I’ve been these things.

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