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I don't know if I wrote this...

I have no idea where this came from, but I found it on my computer. I am not even certain if I wrote it or not, because, frankly, I have so many random one-liners and quotations saved as "notes" in places that I have never seen before, that it is likely someone could hide illegal whatnot and I would never know. If this sounds familiar, or you know where it came from, I would appreciate knowing.

Why did I do it? You want to know, don’t you? It is digging into the back of your mind, clawing, screaming. Why did she do it? Why did she waste a perfectly capable human body? What does it matter? Wasting it now, wasting it in twenty-five years when I finally lose control and kill that unsuspecting family, or wasting it before I ever left the womb. We all die eventually; when does not really seem to matter. But, that is not my reason; that is not “why” I did it. It is simple. It is because I am not an individual. You say I am, but what do you know? Do you know me? Do you really know me? Not really. You watch me on the streets, see me at school, read my journals, but they are all masked. A guise to disguise myself from myself. On the inside, I am the same as you are. I have the same failings, the same urges, the same unattainable concepts of passion and happiness that you have. When I see something I want, I lust after it, a CD, a car, a human. Some of you say you don’t, but you do. Deep inside you do. That is what makes us the same. What is funny is that only those who do not care if they are individuals are individuals.
Freedom is like sex.



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