When I enter a dark room I can — or at least I think I can — see the figure of something standing in the corner.
My name is Chris Davis. Now, while most 13-year-old kids are out playing and having a good time, I’m in the office of some psychiatrist. Apparently my mother doesn’t think seeing things that aren’t there is normal. An over-imaginative child isn’t a title she thinks is suitable for me. I would much rather be labeled over-imaginative than crazy, not that my opinions matter to her.
It’s ruined my life.