Madness seems to creep up on me more than twice a day. It’s something I need to manage, otherwise the world will think I’m dangerous. I need to make it seem like I know what I’m doing whereas in actual fact, I am a crazy person who should probably be locked up.
Although it’s always interesting to see people think I am innocent because I am kind. I am only kind because I am afraid of being scary, as if I am scary, I can’t help but be mad, and I don’t want to be mad. I wonder what the truth is about life. I wonder if I am purposed with madness for a reason.
Do people kill people like me because they’re jealous of my crazy, or because they hate my crazy, or maybe both? Whatever it is, fear is a principle throughout. How can someone be safe with me, and how can someone know the real me if three masks block me.
Madness makes me laugh because I can’t admit that I am scary. I can’t admit that I have hurt others.