Voices are bringing me back to the time we were walking down Newbury street with your hand in mind, and then you wrestled your hand out of mine and ran into the street, where a car was a few feet away from hitting you.
I remember you took my wallet, looked through it and maybe asked me for my credit card and I didn’t have one then, and you gave me back my wallet.
Voices say you would’ve stolen my credit card and run away, and then Howard would’ve eaten it, and I suppose what, you would’ve mailed me his feces as a way to “troll” me and give it back?
The more they describe dreadful situations like this the more it makes me feel like I dodged a bullet.
I can’t help how I feel in the heat of the moment sometimes but if all these atrocities are true and you can’t “just be normal” about shit then good riddance I guess? What the fuck do these voices expect me to do?
And the reason you forcefully left my grip is because the specter of a girl I went to high school with was “turned all the way up” and made you “eat shit” the voices say.
That girl killed herself like two years ago, so it’s safe to say you don’t have to worry about her anymore.