I am afraid of my friends. They seem to love me, but I know that what I am is unacceptable to them at the same time. I never know if they just tolerate me or really accept me for what I am.
Sometimes I fear that they will harm me, because of what I am.

This is why I hide in fantasies of horror, because the idea of being subjected to blood, flesh and torture brings me closer to a pain that I understand. It is the silent hope that through imagining my suffering I can be cleansed of the sin of existence.
When my existence is felt as an insult, mockery or violation of theirs, perhaps my pain can be proof of my intentions. I do not mean any harm. I want to be morally good.