Psycho {H.S.}

One

*edited*

Heart beat is not simply the beating of a heart, it is just another way to tell the time.

From birth, my impressionable mind couldn't decipher physical pain. I broke my arm at six years old and I watched as the limb lay limp on the bumpy car ride to the hospital, showing no emotion at all. My mother labeled me as insane. And every time I fell and got a scrape, my body bleeding, I couldn't feel a thing. I thought it was because I was strong, but my mother took me to the hospital in fear that I was crazy.

Like every great childish dream, it had to end. The doctors told me I had a rare condition called congenital analgesia. It meant that my body couldn't feel pain from the outside stimuli.

Being called insane so much truly made me believe that I was. So I carved the word 'psycho' into my thigh at eight years old and packed my bags at nine. I ran away from home to start a new chapter, half hoping my mother would come looking for me. But she never did. Since I couldn't feel pain, I felt trapped. I craved feeling so heavily, that even my dreams turned to nightmares of self-reflect. I knew of a way I could feel, but instead of outside, rather inside.

So at sixteen, I decided I would thrive off of other peoples pain. Maybe my mother was right.

I'm clearly insane.