Once, there was a young girl who thought the world was her own and that she could do anything with it. She thought a lot with how, where, when, and why she could make everything possible just by thinking about it. Most people would say the girl had talent and creativity, but she was all alone in the world humanity lives in. Her parents, as she grew up into her teen years, said they had a difficult time raising her because, from an objective perspective, there was no doubt that this young girl couldn't bring yourself into the real world and the deep shit she thought of as imaginary for the enlightenment commenced as a sort of strangeness to other people. Even her parents. On the outside, the young girl was a beautiful, bright, intelligent individual who helped others with their problems with families, relationships, school meetings, social clubs, and her closest friends whom she hung out with during and after school periods. Inside, however, she was confused, lost, sad, and angry about where she had to go when coming to terms of her own self discovery and merciless judgement. Her parents didn't beat her, or abuse her in anyway, but she seemed to think she was the one that caused some sort of pressure on her parents because she was in her own world of never ending happiness. While all of this was accurate, the main point is that from what she recalled, she loathed herself into dreadfulness and began to wonder if each opportunity to open up about what she was feeling inside, complete honesty of her psyche and viewpoints of the people she hung out with or helped with during and after school, was a realization of shock value and unending deep shit. From an early age, as she remembered, it felt like an internal pressure, and wanted to blame a person or two in order to avert some overflow of emotion she could not keep inside for very long. A person or two, being her parents, because of the way she was raised: Polite, disciplined, and politically correct. If any kind of perfection she attempted was lower than what she imagined, like meeting at the correct time at a cross country meeting or heading home to complete her school assignments before the next day or any other kind of activity with some kind of goal, or mixing her words together that would make one uncomfortable, it would be as though she would loath herself in disappointment throughout the rest of the day and sleep it off in hopes it will be different the following morning. These expectations were planned out accordingly to what the young girl was thinking and the departments she would sort them in, particularly her closest friends and others whom she wanted to be close to and start a new friendship or promotion in the many social clubs she was in, and would be viewed as bright, impressive, intelligent, attractive, and improved. Thus, from this perspective, this didn't have any deep shit, nor objectivity. Comments from her peers thought of her as promising and determined to succeed, and she, for the moment of hearing those comments, felt approved. However, it wouldn't be approved if the parents' disciplinary toward her was high enough to make her fatigued and imprisoned with no sense of creative freedom. By the time the young girl was on the verge of adulthood, she began to distance herself and staying busy with social clubs and getting perfect grades on tests, and hanging out with her closest friends and the ones she met for the first time with such politeness and discipline and politically correct notions started to decline. It was hard for her indeed, and the expectations of her parents was impossibly high and fearful. Every time the young girl fell short of her expectations of needs of others for improvement, including her family, she became resentful, cruel, angry, dense, foul, greedy, selfish, foolish, and lost, her projection towards others created a separate barrier of her own identity and the girl she was many years ago. She, the young girl soon to be an adult, carried a reflection of herself everywhere and pointed it around in hopes she would not be the only one with different objective perspectives and deep shit in a world that was supposed to be what she imagined in her head as perfect and beautiful, but instead, she realized the real world wasn't what she thought it would be after changing herself from the outside and updating more on the inside constantly. And the only way she could be sane and complete as a whole, was to be alone. Away from all what she became and the feelings and needs of others, whom, in fact as it turned out to be, never wanted her around at all, nor her own parents who were just as confused and lost as she was, but of no avail to improve the young girl. And thus, according to the standards and expectations of their child they once had, was extremely high and declined to even mentioned it beforehand, but than they thought it would be abusive to even talk about it or physically fight over changing her back to the young girl she was many years ago. For the sake of the young adult girl, she was determined to change, and was brave enough to show it, and was devotional to helping other people who were changing into something truthful after such self discovery that she felt as though she was never alone in the real world, and her imagination, while alone in her room for many hours on end, was just an illusion. Thus, in return, she felt free from the bondage of the girl she once was, and if she had the capacity to be enlighten by her parents and her peers and the world around her, she could truly have the creative freedom to speak out about what she was feeling inside and know that it wasn't anyone's fault for becoming different. Surely, the young girl felt guilty for stealing money and food, or picking fights with strangers at school, or doing drugs with junkies or having unsafe sex with an older man while she was originally with someone she was in a loving relationship and commended to think it would be best to blame her parents and closest friends, and the real world for putting herself in those situations. She wanted to express herself and put her grotesque differences out into the world from her head after incriminated within an imaginary world she created to be her own and transition all of it into something real with no objective perspective, or merciless judgement, and unending deep shit. So it want on, and by the time the young girl grew older and older, she could no longer feel the needs of others and she could not express any detail of desperation and only expressed it all for herself in loneliness, in her own imaginary world she made once again for her own, as a gift for her own happiness.