I know three things about myself:
1. I am schizophrenic.
2. I am not insane.
3. I am not stupid.
I'm still discovering the rest.
I am Iva, known to outsiders as Michelle. Eccentric I may be, insane I am not ... yet. Paranoia, an eternal infection, plagues me. The innards of the dark, desolate human mind is my sanctuary. I wait there for my cure. Until then, I write. I write about many things. I write about nothing. I write for sanctuary.
The books called Twilight are my new fascination. Meyer, the jester, gives me a project. How will I restore the ruins of wasted potental? How will I transform these horrid novels into beauty? Soon, I will find the answers.
With that unveiled, my mind is at ease. Only when I make a new discovery shall I reconsider.