They're following me again. The people in jackets. I don't go outside anymore, though, so they just stand outside my window and stare at me. As I type they are looking directly at me.
Nobody else has noticed them.
Nobody else has noticed them.
I miss my old life. I wish when my anxieties were these vast, formless things, not concrete and very much real. I miss when I could go outside. I miss when I could look at a fucking tree without thinking about Yggdrism or the Church of St. Gualbert or whatever other cult I'm researching this time. I miss when I could tell my family about my life, when I was open with them, when they didn't think I was hiding something from them. I miss playing video games and drawing and learning German and hanging out with my friends and listening to Tally Hall and everything else I did back when I was a fucking person and not an object of some bizarre conspiracy that I might've just made up in my head.
I miss being me.
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