For a moment, he just listens to what Ned says, clinging tightly to his hand like it's a life-preserver and he's drowning. And it might as well be, because right now he's in one of those states where he's not sure what's real and what's not. He feels fairly certain that he and Ned are real, but beyond that, the thoughts that run through his mind and make him feel like this are hard to pin down and very, very messy.
It's obvious from the way he's staring at Ned, eyes wide, that nobody's ever quite said things like that to him during a time he feels like this. Sure, people have told him the usual stuff: calm down, you're okay, even little pep talks that had momentarily buoyed his spirits, about how he wasn't a terrible person, about how everything would work out. Those never solved any problems, but sometimes they got him to think about something other than the darkness in his own mind. But what Ned's saying is bigger than that; it's about him, and it's specific, and it's all about how Ned likes him. Likes what he knows, at least. Wants to know more. Doesn't seem afraid of the things he might learn, if it all comes spilling out, which seems more and more likely.
"Do you ever..." he begins, wondering why it's always so much easier to begin his sentences as a question to Ned, or to someone else, as a desperate way to make sure that he's not the only one that thinks about these kinds of things. Unfortunately, the response to his do you ever questions is all too often 'no,' with the accompanying blank stare that lets him know just how crazy the recipient of the question thinks he is. Somehow, though, he doesn't think Ned will respond that way. Somehow, he thinks, even if Ned hasn't experienced the things he's asking, he'll phrase it in a way that doesn't alienate Ginsberg further.
"Do you ever think that... I mean, you said I was sweet, but I don't think I'm sweet at all. I think I can be sweet on the outside, but I don't think that's who I am on the inside. Are you ever afraid of who you are on the inside? Sometimes I can't stop thinking about that, about how there're these... it's like there're voices inside my head, all the time, telling me what terrible things I'm capable of, and they're not things I want to do, but I'm scared of doing them. You like that I speak my mind even if it means getting hit, but I don't hit back because what if I really, really hurt someone? What if I killed someone? And I know I could. I know this all sounds crazy, like I'm some kind of lunatic, and you probably wanted to run out of here the minute I said there were voices in my head, but sometimes I think we all have voices like that, the ones that tell us how awful we are. And sure, you'd like me if you found out bad things had happened to me, but would you like me if you knew that I was probably just a terrible, harmful person waiting to explode?"
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It's obvious from the way he's staring at Ned, eyes wide, that nobody's ever quite said things like that to him during a time he feels like this. Sure, people have told him the usual stuff: calm down, you're okay, even little pep talks that had momentarily buoyed his spirits, about how he wasn't a terrible person, about how everything would work out. Those never solved any problems, but sometimes they got him to think about something other than the darkness in his own mind. But what Ned's saying is bigger than that; it's about him, and it's specific, and it's all about how Ned likes him. Likes what he knows, at least. Wants to know more. Doesn't seem afraid of the things he might learn, if it all comes spilling out, which seems more and more likely.
"Do you ever..." he begins, wondering why it's always so much easier to begin his sentences as a question to Ned, or to someone else, as a desperate way to make sure that he's not the only one that thinks about these kinds of things. Unfortunately, the response to his do you ever questions is all too often 'no,' with the accompanying blank stare that lets him know just how crazy the recipient of the question thinks he is. Somehow, though, he doesn't think Ned will respond that way. Somehow, he thinks, even if Ned hasn't experienced the things he's asking, he'll phrase it in a way that doesn't alienate Ginsberg further.
"Do you ever think that... I mean, you said I was sweet, but I don't think I'm sweet at all. I think I can be sweet on the outside, but I don't think that's who I am on the inside. Are you ever afraid of who you are on the inside? Sometimes I can't stop thinking about that, about how there're these... it's like there're voices inside my head, all the time, telling me what terrible things I'm capable of, and they're not things I want to do, but I'm scared of doing them. You like that I speak my mind even if it means getting hit, but I don't hit back because what if I really, really hurt someone? What if I killed someone? And I know I could. I know this all sounds crazy, like I'm some kind of lunatic, and you probably wanted to run out of here the minute I said there were voices in my head, but sometimes I think we all have voices like that, the ones that tell us how awful we are. And sure, you'd like me if you found out bad things had happened to me, but would you like me if you knew that I was probably just a terrible, harmful person waiting to explode?"