Pretty bleak world with no Van Gogh, Oscar Wilde, F.G.Lorca and yet society tried to destroy all these people. You were trying to crush me the same way everybody else tries to crush me. You never criticised them once, you just joined in, saying implicitly that they’re right. If I said one positive thing, you’d expand it to fill your entire world. A negative thing, you’re silent, disapproving, till I come back onto your pre-set agenda. How is that helping me? Ask me why I mention autism? Why are you interested in that? Why can’t you help me be what I want to be? Why do you have to make me be who you want me to be? Crush me with pressure, put on stones till I confess to something which I know I’m not guilty of. The Crucible. The witch hunt. You piled on a few more stones. Unless I change I deserve to die. The majority’s always right. You’ve helped me be myself. You tried to force me to be like them. But the closer I got to them, the more I wanted to be like myself. Now I’m happy and content.
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