Schizophrenia.

It's what egg-head scientists call having a split personality. Having another person inside of you.

I don't think I have this, but it seems better than what I have. Or what WE have.

Okay, if you meet anyone who knows me, please bother to ask them, "Were you there when that chick got all weird and started singing in Japanese?"

They'll either raise their eyebrows, or burst into tears.

Here's why;

Over the past 12 years, on which I have been on this planet, I have not been...100%. It's not that I'm sick, I don't have cancer or anything, I just...I'm just a few leaves short of a tree, you get it?

I've been singing songs with made up words, feeling urges to get into handstands and weird criss-cross positions, and I've also had an enormous urge to kill Barney, the purple dinosaur. This is, as I found out, not my fault. One night, I had a peculiar dream where I saw a young boy at the end of my bed. He was quite abnormal, having cat's whickers, cat's ears and slitted cat's eyes. He seemed to be crying, and had a box of Kleenex tissues in his hand, a pile of used ones at his feet.

I asked him who he was, and why he had been crying. He told me that his name was George, and that he was a spirit of Razgagh, who had inhabited my head for the past years. I realised HE had been speaking Japanese, and HE had done those things I didn't mean to do.

He said that he was sad because he had to leave to go back to Razgagh, and he was disappointed to leave earth, he'd grown so used to it. I told him it was okay, and then asked him why he was here anyway. He said he wanted to escape from Razgagh, as he did not like the colour of the walls in his apartment there. He complimented me on the wallpaper inside my brain. I thanked him. Then, there was a ringing noise, and I noticed the tiny watch around his wrist, ringing. He frowned. "I've got to get inside now."

"Inside where?" I cried, as he started to fade away.

"Inside!"

The next day, I woke up, feeling embarrassed at the strange dream I'd had. I shook it off, thinking it a twisted nightmare, a one-time thing. But when I got out of bed and stood on the carpet, countless tissues were gathered about my feet. George's.

So now you know. George comes and goes, and at times I force him out, but he's actually not that bad.

Please, warn someone else about George, so that they'll understand me finally.