I'm Crazy, But That's Just Who I Am

Yeah. So.. basically, the story of my life went like this:
In primary school, I was often mentally bashed by the popular creeps.
So I let that mental stress out on my other friends by using my friend to physically bash them.
Which means.. I don't do it. I tell others to do it.
Yeah.
But all the mental bashing took a toll on my mental sanity.
And therefore, with that mind in set,
I moved on to secondary school.

Being the dumb freak I was,
I tried making friends with every single person.
And ended up hurting others in the process as well as.. hurting myself. A LOT.
So from there onwards, I changed.
I became well... this me. The current me.
How do I say it?

I still have that violence from my primary school days inside of me.
I often dream of people dying or murdered or tortured or ACCIDENTALLY getting their body parts chopped off. Or even ripped apart.
Like last night.

Okay. Yeah I know that's scary.
That's the most bizarre part of Rachel.

BUT. What's awesome about her?
She has a really kind and forgiving heart. Although she isn't exactly a beauty queen.
Nor a candidate for any beauty pageant.
She lets things go. And move on.

And that's what's so great about her. And the best thing about her is that she can be a really great friend.
The kind that might just sacrifice her pride to protect her friend's.
But. Well, too bad. She hasn't found that perfect friend to sacrifice even a breath for.

I have like, two extreme sides to me. And.. I don't think much people know that.
Except for my family maybe.. and Megan (a little) and Cherie and Zhi En and Christine...
Well anyway, most people only know my good side and that shows how much they don't deserve me.
Only and allow me to emphasize-- ONLY people who know my violent side and accepts it and tolerates it with a true and loving heart will be a true friend.

That's right.
I'm crazy. Crazy enough to dream that a emo punk-ish girl who was blending herself some juice lost control of the machine and it just whirled around, the plug was pulled out of its socket and the slicing thingies cut her head off from the rest of her body and her friends had to dump her head in a plastic bag. And it was bloody.
And I'm also crazy enough to survive anything that anyone throws at me and yet whine about it to some friend that probably doesn't care as much as I think she does.
And I'm crazy enough to cry tears for people who probably don't give a damn about me.
And I'm crazy enough to forgive a person instantly when that person has caused a great deal of damage on my mental status.

Yes. I'm crazy.
Is there something wrong about it?
Want to send me to the mental hospital?
Well go ahead.
But you're paying all the fees.