We Are the Normal Ones: Memoirs of a Fallen Human

Problem

Being the problem is easy.
Sometimes is easy because you know who to blame. As humans it's natural to find something to blame.
Youre getting bad grades? Maybe you just can't focus and you have ADD and ADHD.
You can't connect with ones socially, you must be autistic.
You stalk and murder someone? You must have some sort of mental illness.
Blame something. Our defects or imperfects, as long as it's not us ourselves. Trying to blame the flaw in our code. A manufacturing error.
When you're the problem you start stripping away at yourself.
Beating up memories that once made you human. Or happy.
Should problems have memories?
You shouldn't dare think you deserve those joyous remembrances.
As soon as they pop in, you shove it, claw it, blow it away.
And when memories actually seep past your defenses...
When they start crushing every blood cell that pumps your poor little heart,
You stab it just to make it stop hurting. You point a gun at it, because that will make it stop hurting.
That makes sense.
Yeah.
It makes sense.
"Just make it stop hurting.
Just make me numb.
I'm tired of causing pain.
I'm tired of being the problem.
I'm used to it. And it's easy.
But I'm so tired
of being the problem."