If You Don't Know Who You Are,

Of Course He Freaked Me Out. Of Course It's Nothing To Do With Me. But None Of That Matters. He Loved Me And Now He Doesn't. I Was Everything To Him And Now I Am Nothing.

He Was A Super Shiny Boy And I Liked The Shape Of Him. Under The Blanket. In The Shower. I Liked His Shadow On The Street And His Imprint On The Sofa. I Hated The Smell Of Hair Gel On His Head, But I Loved It On The Pillow. I Love The Smell Of Losing Someone.

A Lot Of The Time In My Recurring Dreams, Before I Was Diagnosed, Iconic People Would Either Be Good Or Evil Figures. I Remember Dreaming Really Basic Stuff Like Trying To Navigate The London Underground, But Then Paul Newman Would Be The Only One Who Would Direct Me To The Right Trains. And I'm Trying To Remember Who Would Direct Me To The Wrong Ones.

It's Like He Has Emotional Amnesia... I Think You Have To Accept That The Person You Knew Isn't There At The Moment. I Was Witness To How Much He Loved You. I Have The Photos. This Isn't The Person We Knew. I Don't Recognize This Person. He's Shed His Skin." Her Heart Is Broken Too. She Has To Say The Thing That Will Give Me Back My Life. She Draws On Every Reserve. I See How Much It Hurts Her And It Hurts Me Too. I Came From Her Joy And Her Pain, I Lived In It And I Live In It Now.

It Is Madness. And If You Don't Know Who You Are, Or If Your Real Self Has Drifted Away From You With The Undertow, Madness At Least Gives You An Identity. It's The Same With Self-loathing. You're Probably Just Normal And Normal-looking But That's Not A Real Identity, Not The Way Ugliness Is. Normality, Just Accepting That You're Probably Normal-looking, Lacks The Force Field Of Self-disgust. If You Don't Know Who You Are, Madness Gives You Something To Believe In.