I can’t sleep. I have nightmares about being swallowed by a white moth. I like moths, and I collect their furry wings in a glass frame. I hate caterpillars, they gross me out with their furry legs. I am always attracted by weird things. I had the best imaginary friend before third grade, and his name is “dark cloud”. I didn’t have any friend before the third grade, because I had Avoidant Personality Disorder and could not speak to others. I cry a lot. I did a painting with my own tear. I like painting than drawing, drawing is depressing. I found it difficult to stay upbeat, and I like dwelling myself into sadness, it makes me feel secure. My cat also makes me feel secure. I had a rabbit, a chicken, two ducks, three hamsters, they all died within a month. I never had a dog, because my parents don’t keep their promises. I don’t like the word “family”, but I might still love my family. I have lots of scars on my body. My thigh was sliced open by shattered glass when I was swimming with my father in a midsummer. My brother threw a brick at me and crushed my index finger at my mother’s garden, and I was not able to bend that finger again since then because the doctors took my joint out. I am scared of pain, surgeries, and death. I don’t want to die, but I sometimes want to just disappear. My favorite word is whimsical. My favorite weather is thunderstorm. My favorite poet is E.E Cummings, he said: “We&Worlds are less alive than dolls and dreams.” I am wounded, and I think that’s why I am alive.
