For as many times as I have written about myself for various profiles around the internet, I have yet to master what should be said. Often times I read over things I have written and I'm left wondering what convinced me that it was the best thing to say.

I figure I should keep this short, sweet, and entertaining. Then again, that's what I figure, not what I'll end up doing.

The general introduction: My name is Kim, I go by the alias 'Soule Rellim'. I'm 19, American, and mentally disfigured. Freshman in college.

I want to tell you that I'm more than likely the weirdest person you've ever met, but I can't speak for how you perceive things. Not only that, but it seems as if everyone says that same thing. I don't like to be judged.

I consider myself an old soul because I am not like most of the people I've met.

I can't aptly explain who I am and what makes me tick. I have never thought of myself as someone who was composed, or well spoken. I am reckless, impulsive, and although I spend most of my life in my mind, I'm not very logical.

I am artsy, and I prefer to write about and paint things that don't make a lick of sense. I do it because it's the only way I can convey my feelings; not because it makes me seem worldly or unique.

I don't feel sane and I often wonder whether I should get help, or continue the way I am. After all, I've spent the better part of 19 years living this way so why should I change who I've become.

I struggle with my self-esteem, my self-worth, and whether or not I'm a good person. I sin just as often as I breathe and I am not religious. I would prefer to spend my time in a darkened room than out in a crowd. I'm a night owl and I rarely get up before noon, unless it is absolutely necessary.

I suffer from dyslexia, insomnia, and OCD. I find it hard to articulate when put on the spot and therefore I'm quiet when in public. I also smoke, and drink more often than I should.

My inspirations are morbid, dark, and strange; I'm not ashamed of this and I have never been. I have accepted the fact that I am different and I'm happy with it. Or, happy as I can possibly be.

Few people know the real me and I shrink back whenever I feel as if they're on to me. I struggle with the belief that if anyone knew who I really am then I would be alone. Even though I am.

I'm a mental masochist and I enjoy mental struggles: knowledge is power. I also believe that intelligence is highly attractive.

I have more bad qualities than good; I wish I was lying. If this doesn't disturb you, I suppose there's a chance for friendship.

I await your contact.