There was a moment long ago I felt I was truly out of my mind. I even had the t-shirt to broadcast it. It's difficult to express, to even comprehend that what is before my eyes is really there. What surfaces under my finger tips are in fact soft, smooth or rough to the touch and what sounds I am hearing - even the silences - is actual noise of some sort and not just deafening static.

I feel as though I am trapped inbetween my own fantasy and truth. I spend so many hours creating a different life for myself in my mind. Stories I could never tell any one. They're not particularly happy nor sad but in them I am important, rebellious, damaged beyond repair.

The light shining in my eyes is a blinding reflection of my own perceptions. I wonder if at these times I experience "black-outs" but I am still awake, breathing, hearing, seeing. Maybe it's just my brain refusing to take in all the information needed. Maybe it's really me refusing to just be.

My attention span is as short as a toothpick. Studious I am not yet I'm always trying to teach myself...something, whether it's my own self worth or just how to live.

There is nothing more valuable than a persons senses at their peak, one-hundred percent. I'm afraid fifty is as far as I can go.