You don't understand how it is. Do you know what it's like to know something, to know it to be true, and have no one believe you? They say it's a test of faith to believe something that no one else does, that flies in the face of all reason, but I couldn't stop believing this if I tried. It's true, that's all, and not all the reason or logic or mocking laughter in the world can change that.
I used to be Amelia Earhart. I remember her life -- not all the time, but often enough. I'll do something great, and when I'm flush with the feeling of success I'll suddenly remember feeling it before, goggles pushing back my hair and smiling for the cameras. When I'm feeling nervous, sometimes I'll feel a jolt as the engines hiccough beneath me and I'll cast a worried glance at instrument dials that aren't there. Worst of all, though, was once when I was lonely -- crushingly lonely, I mean, as if the whole world had deserted me -- and I remembered the despair of dying alone on a lost desert island.
I try to use my past life to better myself, to draw on my experiences and make up for my previous failings, but it's hard to do that when everyone makes fun of your source of strength. Even the people who don't make fun of me to my face don't believe. I woke shaking from a dream where she died in that desert, and you held me and said, "I'm here," which wasn't good enough. I knew you were thinking that I was just being crazy again, dreaming about being Amelia, and thinking about maybe you should convince me to go see someone about this. You can't be here for me without being here for who I am -- and who I am includes who I was.