I used to think a lot of things but one of the most interesting things thought of was that i was all alone.

That every inch of my scarred rejected body was unloved-unwanted. And with every depressive moment i gained something new. Something to grow on. Experience.

I realized that every thought i had had been trod before myself. There was a single line of hope. Communication. I opened my mind my heart with greatest care for what was left was just pieces of a life i once had.

All the stories I never finished were a reflection of my life. I could never finish what I started. I could never finish loving, hating, hurting. And for some reason I feel writing this story, my story, will redeem what sanity I have left. It will complete the healing.

Chapter I

Identity. We all struggle with it at one time or another. Some more than others. Many of dont even realize it. One moment I was the world's best comedian and the next i was the worst friend in the world.

The only comparison between my switching identities is the had one desire. To belong.