You and the other Creepypastas all have problems. Lots of them. Some very bad, and others not so much. It was no doubt you all are mentally ill with at least one disorder each. Like Ticci Toby with his CIPA, Schizophrenia, Tourette's, Bipolar disorder, BPD, PTSD, ADHD, and a few others. Or Jeff's manic tendencies, like setting shit on fire in the middle of the night. You get the point. One day, during breakfast, the subject somehow got brought up among the weird shit everyone talks about, though most of the younger Creepypastas are still asleep.

Hoodie: "I have Dissociative Identity Disorder." Hoodie deadpanned; his mask rolled up over his mouth so he could eat his food.

Ticci Toby: "D-Damn! Any of them-m-m freaky?" Ticci Toby blurted out, not having any sort of filter.

Masky: “Unfortunately, all of them are.” Masky responds to the younger brunette man, sipping from his coffee and causing the whole room to go silent.

Azrael: “… And how do you know that Masky...?” You ask, you’re the first one to break the silence, voice shaking, eyes wide and darting around the room. Your hands fidget with the silverware, the quiet clinking sound echoing in your ears, slightly scared of what Masky is going to say. Masky, without missing a beat, calmly sets his coffee mug down, before turning to look at you while still leaning against the table. Masky then cocks his head to the side, almost as if he’s curious.

Masky: "Because I’ve fucked him before, Azrael..." Masky says, his voice quiet, still looking at you, a slight curious look on his face as he looks at you, the room still quiet.