Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

I can’t say for sure how I feel about the motives of my tormenters. Their thoughts don’t exist for me, and their memories are always shorter about pain than mine. Many would consider me weak for exposing my uncertainty and doubt about which path is the straight and narrow through Void, and which path leads me through the meandering experiences the rest of you enjoy on your way through this Land of Nod, East of Eden. I know that I am not alone in suffering. Many have it worse than I could ever piece together with my nightmares. The rest of you have each other, and the society that honestly leaves you with more than an empty hand, a stack of verses, and a set of claws that always come out at night.

I don’t know if I’m a child of God, or just a colony of thoughts hiding in a hole desperate to be known, desperate for my punishment to bear meaning aside from my pain, desperate to be peaceful, to be pure of heart, to be merciful, to be hungry for righteousness, to be meek, to mourn, and to be poor in spirit. In pursuit of these ideas, I bear witness to everyone who will listen. Am I a spaz with a penchant for fisticuffs, or a child of God? I'm alone in this hole, that's how I know it's not the right place to be: Heaven has more residents than me alone. No matter how hard I try, what I do, what I say, or how I feel, I will always know solitude means living not only away from the rest of you; solitude means I live away from God.