I like to write random things because it helps me stim.

She hears the rest of the world saying that they are the normal ones. Somehow she doesn't believe it. She wonders if she ever will. Maybe others are the ones who are strange. How can they understand social norms, metaphors, similes... and politics?????
The rest of the world is a mystery to her. Only in the space that she creates in the books from her soul, only there does she feel whole.

Neon colors explode like fireworks, drip like rain, or wash like waves in a world of black. I see it all in my mind's eye as the music plays around me. I'm in another world, a peaceful, beautiful place, just for me. It's so safe, so restful.

Colors flash like strobe lights in my mind, parts of movies and books replay a thousand times, like a never ending noisy dryer with rocks in it. Always going, a million miles an hour. My only escape from the mental noise? Classical music, like piano guys, crashes the party in my overstimulated mind, filling it instead with quiet.