Lines of scar tissue trace from the edge of your lips back to the end of your teeth. You run your tongue from one corner to the other. Right to left. You can’t be the only one to have this. Your desire to probe another’s orifices has close to overwhelmed you in the desire to relate to other people. Was this normal? When the fan runs wind over your skin it crawls to create peaks and divots. As they fade, one patch remains on the outside of your forearm. You pick at every little one until the whole population turns red to purple to green. Was this normal? Your teeth poke holes into each other. A corner of a molar no longer holds up a roof and with your tongue’s help you can just barely make out the inner cavity. It felt like porous webbing. It reminds you of the animal skulls you looked at in your biology class and their delicate nasal cavities. Looking at those cavities used to make you very sad. Was this normal? You once had a hangnail on your hallux. They had to numb your foot to break under your skin and pull the left section of it out. It took twice the amount of anesthetic for you to not feel it. It felt good to know you were being mutilated.  Was this normal? You always felt a dip in the upper back of your head. You once heard that newborn babies had a soft spot in that area of their skull, but that the hole closes as they get older. Pressing on yours incites headache. Was this normal? You once formed a cyst on your thigh. It did not want to be drained like its smaller companions that littered your back and face. You are determined to remove the blemish. You dig around the outsides and press inward to find the source. It seems deeper than you thought. You continue to scratch away at the layers of skin as you start to bleed. It doesn’t really hurt. You just want to find the cyst. After about thirty minutes you give up. You’re not really sure why you couldn’t find it. You must have took at least an inch into your leg. Was this normal? For weeks you slipped in and out of lucid dreams. You only got up to use the bathroom, check the news, and take your medicine. Some of the dreams were enjoyable and others less so. You almost started to forget which world was more real, but it all started to become unsettling. Even when you didn’t care where you were, every state felt as if it were decaying around you. And when you did care, the panic caused you to start to shake. In quiet, disabling anxiety, you spun counterclockwise to the world around you. You grabbed the razer from your shower. You gently rubbed the blades against your forearm. Erratic slices cut through the outermost dermal. There was no blood, just redness. It was only to make sure you were still there. But it wasn’t quite right. Your arm was there, but maybe the rest of you wasn’t. You had to make sure. Was this normal? You raced the blades up your arms, over your chest, down your torso, down and down. Certain curvatures ran strange and caused blood to pearl to the surface. Others barely upset the dead layer. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You always felt like your face didn’t look quite right. And right now, it was the face of some sort of estranged family member. Was this normal? You gently glide the razor sideways across your face. It’s the most sensitive yet. You remember some random piece of trivia about the temples on a human head. You start to slide the hand razor to the right side of your temple. It doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You experiment with more and more pressure until blood starts to arise. The little bit of it running down the side of your face made you feel the most comfortable in your skin for a long time. You start to rotate from your forearms and your temples and your stomach and again. You’ve forgotten about the dreams. You’ve forgotten about the world. You’ve forgotten about the trivial division between reality and non-. You’ve forgotten about normalcy. You feel good. Was this normal?