I always knew I was different from the others.
When I was seven, I would go to the playground and sit on the swing alone. But I wasn't lonely. I was never, in my whole life, lonely. I had them.
In school I sat at the back of the class on my own. Teachers tried to pair me up with people, but they soon realised that there was no point in trying to find new friends for me. I already had friends. I had them.
As I got older, my parents started to worry. They thought I locked myself up in my room after I got home from school. I didn't. I would jump out of my window, onto the roof of the extension and onto the ground. I had fun with them.
Sometimes I got scared. If I was alone with them for a long time, I would black out. I'd wake up, not having any idea what had happened. Every now and again, I'd wake up in the strangest places. But I'd laugh it off. It was just them – they loved to play pranks.
One time, shortly after I turned seventeen, my mom started screaming at me. She shouted about seeing me break windows, smoke and drink on a Friday night after I told her I was going to bed. I had no idea what she was talking about. I told her I was asleep then, and that I woke up on the couch downstairs. My dad, a doctor, was listening. He whispered to my mom, and later that day they took me to see somebody. Somebody they said could help me.
I always knew I was different from the others. It was when I was seventeen I knew why, and just how much it would change my life.