Some are cursed to walk the streets, completely unaware of themselves, and some are unaware of others. Many, many a time those of my kind, of our kind, suffer both the same time. I am a socialite among myself alone. I walk empty, vast pathways in a city you will never visit. Forever entangled in vast social complexities beyond most average individuals involvement without ever escaping beyond my own front door. A life so clandestinely diverse, with all the dangers and trappings of true society without ever making an acquaintance, and often more violent and admirable than anything society could offer us. These various interpersonal encounters with selves beyond my own self, demons solely created for the workings and makings of my mind alone, never to be shared in their magnificent intelligence and frightening dominion over all that may have once been mine. Of course, I know "real" people, and I may even love them; but none have ever been so perfectly close than this world you'll never imagine, and never visit. I am completely contained inside the walls of my own mind, and the vastness of my imagination, as well as that of the voices that lead me on my way. For I am alone, isolated, a perfect socialite. I understand the politics of my society, and I know the cultural way more founded than any a man could ever wish to be from any other nationality. This is my mind, my voices, my world; and however much I may enjoy you, you cannot be invited without total consensus of the governing powers at hand. It is a terrible fear to live here, as honestly alone as I am. It is scary to do this alone. How many times I have had to lie, instead of explain that it was not I that dug that razor in so far, but that it was I screaming for help - choked off by demons no one else will ever encounter. To tremble as I pull my hands away from your neck just in time to breathe the words "I love you, I'm sorry" only to retreat to as far from you as I can get; or worse - having to apologize for not "coming to" in time to stop myself from hurting you. You may think me a desperate recluse... terrified of you and everyone else. How wrong you are, my friend, for what I fear - what drives me to hide from you, who I may love dearly - is within the confines of the space between my ears. How many times will I awaken to voices outside my door, voices of my dearest loved ones, speaking horrible things of my failures and starting beguiling rumors - only to open the door to an empty room? Nightly. Yes, I fight my war alone. I walk in these shadows while my face is bathed in the summer sunlight - I cannot feel it. I walk on eggshells to please my abusers, and though they beat me, and break me on a regular basis you will never see a bruise, no dark sunglasses, no long shirts in hot weather. For I am bruised to keep them away from you. This is my High Society, my Divine Education. I am a beautiful mind and a perfect socialite, and I never even have to crawl out of bed to experience it. In fact, I experience most brilliantly and terrifyingly before I ever attempt to meet the day.
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