Chapter Text
I don't understand what's wrong with me. The answer should be obvious, right? I'm a psychic, things just won't ever work the normal way with me. But that's not exactly it. There's this—well, I don't think I could call it an emotion, moreso the lack of it: whenever I feel something it's like I'm forcing myself to do so, like I'm not actually feeling it but since I'm supposed to in a situation I mimic it. I remember when I first did it: I was six years old, and from then on I just started doing it more and more frequently. It's like every year I became less and less of a person, and every year it gets harder to pretend to be normal.
It's exhausting.
But then again, lately everything is exhausting. Everyday I listen to the banter of people inside my head and then hey someone died horribly, and all their family is mourning their death, and oh a mother just lost her child and she can't stand looking at other women because she feels ashamed and guilty and jealous and terribly, terribly sad and angry, and not even shutting the voices off makes me feel less uneasy. Everyday I wake and get ready for school and walk the streets and attend class and do everything a boy my age is supposed to do but with the constantly increasing weight of knowing everyone's problems without the capacity of realistically doing something to solve them on my shoulders; there are some instances I'm able to tune the noise out, but sometimes it gets so overwhelmingly loud I can't even form a thought.
Even so, I find a strange kind of comfort in watching what a perfectly normal life satou hiroshi, the most average person in earth, lives. I know I couldn't ever have what he has, but knowing that if I were to go and look for him I'd find him calmly eating lunch while talking to his bland friends about generic stuff or walking to class or just handling even the hardest situations in the most standard way possible, lightens the heavy weight in my heart.
So it's become a habit to watch him. At school sometimes I'll go looking for him; it's hard to admit this to myself, but I do feel somewhat dejected from that time I tried to befriend him and got called weird (even if it was just in his head and it's technically my fault I heard him), so I never try to talk or interact with him. I just like to see him being happy and well. I imagine myself sitting beside him and being normal with a normal circle of friends.
It's not that I don't like my friends. I just... I get tired, and I can't help but resent a little the fact that I can't have the only thing I want; the only thing I have asked of god is to give me a break, a peaceful year, and if that is too much to ask, a week would do, but god keeps bringing me the opposite of what I want at the hand of my friends, and it feels like a punishment; for what? I don't know, for being born most likely. Maybe god is scared I will take his place. What a pain... He should be the one to know just how much I don't want to do that.