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My name is Ari.
I'm, what some would call, mentally ill. I don't see it as such. I see it as me feeling more comfortable being refered to as a boy, when I am really a girl.
I have issues with my sexuality, and am on the fence about being bisexual or lesbian/straight (Depending on what I am referring to myself as).
I love reading. I love H.P. Lovecraft's stories, but I also like some modern stories.
I am an avid writer, and I never leave home without a notebook and pen. Often, I write about people who I encounter on the streets. I don't know their names, backstories, or anything. I make them into a character and give that character their own backstory and name, along with traits.
I listen to music everyday, just check my YouTube account (AlexanderLightwoodBane), I post lyric videos there all the time.
I don't have many friends. In real life, I have about three. Online, I have as many as there are in SATSPVF.
You would expect that I have mental problems. The only thing close to problems that I have are identity issues and that I often release my stress and depression by imagining brutally torturing and murdering other people, or imagining myself being tortured/murdered by the other person. If you know me, you would have never guessed that I was this disturbed, huh?
I often am not listened to, and I keep to myself often. It's really hard sometimes, since I have no kind of medication for when I'm upset. I just have my pillow or my writing software to help me. I have about twenty stories about people that were forgotten, not cared about, and ridiculed. Just what I have to go through every day of my pointless existence.
I always assume that my parents are trying to dig up all the information on me. They want to know why I'm not bringing up dating, they want to know what causes my depression, my sexual orientation, everything that I've been trying to keep secret ever since I started middle school. I feel that they already have, and they're going to ask me soon if I'm seeing any girl or if I need to go to the doctor.
I don't self harm, but I always consider it. Did you think I was strong? Well, you're wrong. I was never strong enough to deal with my depression all by myself. All the people who have laughed at me and tortured me for years will never know that I have considered ending my life just because nothing would stop, no one would give me hope, and I will enver amount to anything. My dad was right, I'll never be perfect . . . I'll always be a monster that murdered their daughter and decided to wear her skin after she turned five.
I'll never be a proper human being.
I'll never be normal.
I'll never be me.