I wasn’t sure if I hoped the bit about the brain was true. I was halfway through my twenty-sixth year and not so sure that this was the finished product I wanted for my mind. I was doing my best to be normal. This was what normal people did, right? They went on terrible dates with ordinary humans. They didn’t see things that weren’t there. They didn’t cling to ghosts and maladaptive fantasies they’d conjured in the dark. They took their medications they went to therapy, and they learned how to distinguish what was real.
