Alone, Alone, Alone

I experience very strange compulsions.  I know that they are strange because I have witnessed the fear spread across the faces of people whom I told about these compulsions at a younger age.  I could not know how odd they were because they simply washed over me.  What else could be more natural to a child that is growing up, but that which they experience?  My foster parents took me to a psychologist once, but after I opened up to him and then proceeded to hear him discussing the idea of locking me away in an asylum with my foster parents after our discussion, I quickly learned that I should no longer share these experiences if I wanted to live any semblance of a normal life.  (No, I did not use the word semblance as a child, but that is the best description of my thought process in adult terms.)  Denying every one of my experiences as strange dreams that had finally stopped from that point forward, I managed to escape the clutches of God only knows what horrors might have awaited me in a psych ward or an institution.  I had seen the movies, which taught me about electric shock therapy, and I did not intend to become a victim to any psychological experiments.  (I saw the Wizard of Oz.) I therefore learned to keep my cool and to keep my secrets, my visions that is, to myself.