Dear Doctor

May 12, 2011
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The last you heard from me, my life had gone down the drain. I had nowhere to go so I went somewhere no one could find me. I did not expect you to understand me in the least bit. You always showed up smiling asking the same old questions. What do you want to talk about today? I despised you for being so happy every single day. I hated when your wife called and your face would just light up. How would you even begin to fathom what it feels like to be me?
You said it was good that I had gotten over my obsession with shoes. How good does it feel to have your wife die, Doctor? Would you care even to change what shoes you wore? As you know, I boxed away every single thing I did not need. Even the poor little babies, I piled them up in the boxes and stacked them in the corner of my room. I never heard their cries to wear them again. My typical day for the past five years consisted of waking up, working, and sleeping in the same old, worn out running shoes. I was never deterred when I walk past the new shoes store.
But Doctor, I’m scared. I have been waking up in a different pair of shoes. A brand new pair that looks quite expensive. My hair has been washed and my house has been cleaned. I have even seen things I have never quite eaten. The pile of boxes show signs of being touched. I might sound crazy, but I think there’s someone else inside of me. Someone else who has my love of shoes.

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