I ust to hav power. Ust to be strong. I ust to protect. But now? I am nothing. I rember a time wher peple trustd me. A time wher peple wernt scard that I woold hurt them. That I woold blow my top and freek. But that time isnt now. It was a long time ago.
It was a time where I could speak properly, could write properly, could use my powers properly, could do anything fucking properly. I was trusted and loved and had friends. My speech and the way I did things were coherent and impressive. I had knowledge and a lover, a friend and an enemy. But after the accident I have two selves, my calm and dimwitted, then my rage and wrathful.
The times when I'm calm and dimwitted is when my speech and writing is correct, and most can understand me. These are the times when people are happy but berated with me.
Then thers the times wher im not to hapy and peple cant undrstand wat I say or wat I do. These ar the times when peple yel at me or tel me meen things.
People lie to me a lot now, they think I don't understand there lies and words, but I still do. They pity me for being damaged merchandise, for being a lost cause. They think my only pain is being not being able to skate board properly or be able to beat the newest levels of my video game.
But my pain is deepr than that. Imagine that yer a geneius with powrs and frends, and then take it away, alng with evrything you know. But the memrys of yer past self is stil with you evrywher you go, so whenevr peple yel at you for bein not smart you undrstand why they yel and wish you coold fix yerself for them. But you cant.
And you won't ever be able to. Every since I lost everything its like a monotonous existence that I can understand, yet I cant at the same time. An existence that you were forced into by your own morail, but you cant fucking understand what they did to cause it. And you cant be fucking enraged that they did. Because I'm too fucking special now to understand or think anymore. Because my fucking brain. My fucking damaged brain...
herts.
And I want to dy becus of it.
And I want to stop exsting becus of it.
Becus I dont want to liv like this anymor. I dont want to liv with only the nowlege of somthing that ons was. Somthing that I ons had. Becus evry day the black part of me, my specul part grows biger, and I begin to forget mor. I begin to forget how to writ and how to speek. And im scard becus of it. I want to go bak. I want to go bak. I want to go bak. Plees let me go bak.
Plees let me end befor I lose it al.
Please.