I tried to tell everyone that I wasn’t the same as they were, that there was something about me that was different. They didn’t believe me. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t care, that it didn’t matter to me what they thought. But it did matter. Not because they didn’t believe me I was different, but because they didn’t believe me at all. So when they look at me and smile, and whisper about my eccentricities, I know they don’t believe me. And it shouldn’t matter to me what they think. But it does. And I hate it.