In the 1970s, when I was at primary school, I had a friend. He was the sort of friend who would nowadays alert social services. Because he wasn't a child. And he wasn't a girl. No, he was in his 30s. He had a beard. And his name was Klas.
Klas was my imaginary friend. He wasn't about all the time, because he lived near my grandmother in a white house by the station, about half an hour's drive from ours. But as I grew up, he was alluded to. Mentioned. Blamed, even. If I talked when nobody was around, it was to Klas. If I sometimes played without my sister, I was playing with Klas.
This article is interesting, but it does NOT MENTION womb twin survivors. At all.
I wonder why?