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Although there is the belief that people with SPD are complacent and unaware of their feelings, many recognize their differences from others. Some individuals with SPD who are in treatment say that life passes them by or they feel like living in a shell; they see themselves as "missing the bus" and complain of observing life from a distance.Patients with schizoid personality disorders consider themselves to be observers, rather than participants, in the world around them.

Individuals with SPD may often be unable to express aggressiveness or hostility. They can seem vague about their goals, indecisive in their actions, self-absorbed, absentminded and detached from their surroundings (''not with it'' or ''in a fog''). Excessive daydreaming is often present.

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The next time Yoongi woke up. It was silent. The sun stand low on the sky and a warm breeze came through the windows.

The boy rubbed his eyes and looked at his alarm clock that was placed on his nightstand beside his bed. 5:12pm.

He groaned and threw his head back into his pillow. Yoongi didn't feel like getting up and wander around.

The boy turned on his back. That was the first time in forever when he was left completely alone. He enjoyed the silence and listened to the birds tweeting outside.

Yoongi closed his eyes, enjoying the sunshine that warmed his face. But after a while he felt unwell. Thoughts catched up with him. The boy wanted to run, but couldn't move a single muscle. His head began to hurt, tears dwelling in the corner of his eyes.

All he wanted was one thing: blood.

The boy immediately sat up, his were opened wide like he was shocked.

His legs began to move on their own like he was some kind of machine. They made their way to the wardrobe. Now his arms moved. They opened the door first, then the lowest drawer.

The legs bend and his right hand felt under the floor of the first drawer. After it found what it searched for, the legs moved again leaving the wardrobe open.

After his hands closed the bathroom door carefully behind him, Yoongi sat on top of the toilet. He wasn't thinking as he stared at the small metal in his palm.

A t-shirt hit the floor. Then a few seconds later splatters of blood folowed, but they stayed not for too long before they've been wiped up with a wet towel.

The shirt found it's way back to its owner. The door was opened, the wardrobe was closed.

A pale boy hid under the sheets of a hospital bed clunching his chest in pain as tears hit the pillow underneath his head.

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