With a hand on my Bible, I wake up yet again in the mental hospital. Ever since middle school, I've been locked in here and closely monitored. Everyday it's always the same routine of being subjected to tests by doctors who pretend to care about me. Sure, there are others here, but I feel like they're targeting me in particular. None of us are really friends despite sharing the same mental conditions.
I remember when I was free, being able to happily eat ice cream without a care in the world, with my only concern being what flavour I would get. Now it seems like I'm just trapped in a maze, being tortured by a cruel god who wishes to keep me and find as many ways as they can to break me.
Everyday I wish that God could just strike me down and end me. If only I could pray to Zeus and ask for him to hit me with one of his lighting bolts and just let me leave both this hospital and this pathetic "life" I'm part of. I'd gladly take a fire, an earthquake, or any other kind of natural disaster that God can conjure. Maybe it would be better if He were to kill all of us, both the sick and the doctors, and let us all rot away and hopefully become equal in the afterlife. If I knew how, I'd cause destruction myself if it weren't for such tight security.
Now matter how many drugs they make me take, I feel no difference. Aside from hallucinations and nightmares, I feel just as dumb and useless as before. They think that giving me drugs will make me a superhuman. As far as I know, I'll just become a zombie with no mind of which to speak.
I miss my parents. It's been years since I last saw them. The only real "guardians" I have are those doctors who always watch me. They can call themselves "doctors" all they want. I know for a fact that they're just parole officers who want to beat me and abuse me however they can. They don't care about my health. They want to shut me up so they can forget about me, do whatever the hell they want, and then lie to their supervisors to get their annual performance bonus. I often think of how my parents would read me bedtime stories when I was in elementary school. They told of heroes saving the world from monsters. These creatures of indiscernible form that are seen as evil heartless abominations and must be killed. Only now do I see that they lied to me. The real monsters they should have warned me about are people.
I keep running around in circles, both physically and mentally. Everyday when I wake up, I pace around endlessly thinking of ways to free myself from my physical and mental prisons. No matter what strategies I use, I'm always stuck in the same old clothes, or the occasional straightjacket and muzzle.
What do the doctors say about me? What rumors do they spread? How do they paint me as evil and unapproachable? I always said to myself that permanent records are just a lie meant to scare students and whip them into shape, but now that I'm here, I wonder how often I was watched, monitored, and reported; before someone decided that I was too unstable to coexist with normal healthy students and that I should be locked up.
I always daydream that one day a hero will show up. Some kind of prince, princess, or any sort of hero will break in, kill those who have wronged me, and free me from this Hell. Should the hero choose to be my friend or fall in love with me after, I care not. They're probably only in it for the money and fame if I'm being honest. Isn't that why people do random acts of kindness? Just to be recognized as a saint? All I want is someone to free me. They can leave my life afterwards for all I care. All I want is someone to just give all these hopeless souls any sort of salvation.
Everyone judges me. Sure, these straightjackets and muzzles seem to be in style throughout these halls, but as much as I'd like to express myself, it seems that any sort of colour, happiness, and freedom isn't allowed. All these walls are drab and devoid of any sense of creativity and improvement. I wonder if I or the others have gone colourblind due to how drab our day to day lives are. They probably wouldn't trust me with a pack of crayons or even bingo blotters to make the simplest of patterns on paper. As much as I'd like to express myself, even through writing or venting, no one wants to listen to me. None of the others, be it patient or staff, want to approach the person in the straightjackets and muzzle despite seeing others in the same getup.
God, how I wish I could have a cup of coffee, or any of the sugar filled sludge they serve at Tim Hortons. It seems that moments like those, where all I have is a coffee to drink and a window next to me to observe is where my best ideas come from. There aren't any windows in here. All I can drink is water and whatever drugs they deem appropriate for me to ingest. Even though I never talked to anyone as I drank my coffee and thought about my fears and ways I could express myself, I'd kill to have someone talk to me. Not a staff member telling me when to eat, sleep, use the bathroom, or go to some other activity like a dog; but another patient who genuinely wants to interact with me. Even something as simple as saying "Hi", a cheesy joke, or even a non sequitur from the most delusional of patients would at least show me that truly I'm not alone, compared to those plastic workers who pretend to care.
Sometimes, I hallucinate moths flying inside attracted to the faintest source of light, and eating the padding and my straightjacket, granting me freedom. The moths often die in those hallucinations. Their wings burn up and I hear screams. Occasionally, the staff are the ones forcibly tearing the wings off as I see blood stain the floor. If only I could sprout wings and escape. Sure, I would be an outcast, mocked and even hunted for sport, but at least I would have freedom. That's why I often fly in my dreams, right?
I often play games with other patients. Most of the time it's board games like chess. Sure, chess is fun, but I'm not a master. Some of the patients here are masters despite their mental condition. It seems that the grandmasters of chess you read about in the guidebooks are the most mentally unstable you can find. I'm no master, but it's a fun distraction from this Hell. Most players seem like they can beat me, if only because I seem unhinged. 90% of the time, they win and proceed to quote The Art of War as if they actually bothered to read it from start to finish. The players and I never talk. We just motion towards the board when it's the other's turn. Occasionally, one of us will say checkmate in a weak voice, but most of the time, we just silently accept defeat as the staff resets the board yet again.
Checking the newspaper the staff gave me this morning, I decided to check my horoscope. Maybe the stars can make me feel better. Rather than people who I can trust and feel safe around, apparently my only solace is an alignment of stars determined by the day I was born. It's the same old canned responses. I'm "loyal, kind, and wise." Sure, I could thank them for the stupid compliments, but the stars don't want to hear about my problems or offer me advice on how I can leave. All the stars want is to allow someone to get paid to copy and paste a set of compliments 12 times in a small box on a piece of paper. I bet the "author" couldn't care less about the mentally ill.
I wonder if I'm truly to blame for being stuck here, or if I should shift the blame onto the government. Surely, there has to be some country out there who actually cares about the mentally ill as opposed to shoving them all in a building filled with doctors and calling it a day. Or maybe deep down, no country cares about the mentally ill. They're too busy with sports, war, media, fashion, religion, and prejudices. If any country wanted to do something about the mentally ill, they would have to want to compete with another country in order to not be seen as a monolithic "villain" while writing in all of their textbooks and news programs that they are the "hero" of Earth. Ultimately, everyone must be mentally ill. The government is nothing more than a contest regarding who is the illest.
Has there ever been a time where mental illness didn't exist? Sure, there was the prehistoric times where dinosaurs roamed and killed endlessly until they all went extinct, then humans showed up and experimented and discovered as all the great minds were called insane. Then came the middle ages. The rulers were corrupt and ill and they viewed the weak, starving, and revolting public as the truly I'll ones. Then we decided to invent war and kill each other for no reason other than someone in another country did something we disagree with, and as such, we should send innocent soldiers to their death while the leaders sit on their asses and pretend to care about the casualties. If we were all sane, perhaps war wouldn't exist. After all the fighting, we now entered the modern age. Sure, war still exists, but everyone chooses to ignore it as they distract themselves with the latest piece of media that allows them to escape the screams, explosions, and deaths all around them. Thanks to social media, now we have endless distractions and ways of going insane. I guess mentally illness was always there, but no one really cared. Arguably the only time mental illness didn't exist was when God was creating the universe. But then again, that just implies that God wasn't mentally ill. If God made us all like Him, and we are all mentally ill, then God must be mentally ill as well. Sure, it's a fallacy, but God invented fallacies and is above them, isn't He?
I used to love technology as a kid. I would browse YouTube finding an endless supply of viral videos, and all the video games I played were filled with wonder. I always wondered what I could do and what I could encounter. The endless rumours on the playground and on YouTube didn't help either. Ever since arriving in this hospital, they have all lost their charm and became soulless. All the games are rehashes of the same bloody and gory money making formula. They feel like they have to make a message and fill their games with microtransactions in order to stand out and be the most played on live streams. Meanwhile, the internet seems like it gets all its content from 1 source and is regurgitated on every website. The creators don't care about entertaining you. All they want is your money and attention. As long as they can pump out content that the masses want and can mindlessly engage in, then they have a steady income ahead of them as the corporations give them ads allowing them to steal data from viewers. I remember listening to Virtual Insanity by Jamiroquai and simply thinking it was catchy, but its moral was too heavy-handed and improbable to take seriously. Nowadays, it seems that I didn't listen. Why else would I be here?
Has there ever been such a thing as an individual? I'd say that I'm insane for choosing not to follow any crowds, but no matter what I do, it seems like there are countless people who enjoy the same things, or at the very least, do the same things. Have I ever had an original thought, or is my insanity caused by spending too much time with others listening to their thoughts on similar subjects endlessly? If I chose to completely isolate myself, would I be sane, or would my insanity further increase due to being seen as going against the crowd? None of us want to be here, and yet we're all mentally ill, so we have no choice but to be part of our own culture, with slang, inside jokes, and prejudices. Who started it? Was it the first patient in here, or was it all predetermined by the doctors?
Another patient gave me a poem once. Perhaps it was a confession from them. I had spent so long trying to analyze it, seeing if they were trying to confess, if they were plotting to kill me, or if it was a suicide note; that the doctors eventually took it from me and burned it. Although I was relieved to no longer be plagued by that poem, I have never heard from the author since. I never heard any screams or signs of struggle. They couldn't possibly have killed themselves after interpreting the doctors' interference as rejection, right? It has been weeks since I saw them eating or doing any sort of activities with the other patients. I don't have feelings for anyone in this hospital, but I wouldn't burn the letter. Perhaps it was the doctors' way of simply stopping to treat them without having to go through with the publicity of releasing a newly reformed patient.
I've lost all hope. My case was a 1/100 chance. Why did I have to be the one to be diagnosed? Everyone thinks that I'm an idiot, insane, or both. Why must my mind work this way? I wish there was some cure for this. Scientists are trying, while some say I should just accept it as it makes me me. Others say that society should build awareness for people like me rather than fund a cure. Honestly, I just want to be treated as a normal member of society. I don't care how.
I am removed from my family. The last thing I said before they took me away was simply "I love you." I can't remember anything about that day aside from my last words to them before I simply stopped seeing them. Rumours spread throughout the town that I was taken from my family. I do not know what people have said to me, but I fear that my reputation is ruined. Everyone expects me to snap and kill should I return. It was so cold on the day they took me away. I wish I could have died right there in the snow. I wish my blood could have stained the snow as a final memory of who I was before the snow melted and spilled into the grass. Anything to allow my family to remember me.
What path has God set before me? Has He gifted me with any sort of tools to help me? Has God purposely used His tools to make me suffer? I may not know how the Egyptians built the pyramids, but perhaps it was God who used sacred tools to construct those pyramids. However, in my case, instead of constructing a pyramid, He constructed the walls that confine me. Knowing God, these walls are indestructible.
Everyday these emotions flood me like an avalanche. They attack me non stop leaving me cold and wishing I could bleed out and die. No matter how high I climb out of this pit, the doctors will always be at the top waiting to kick me, spit on me, and throw rocks at me. No matter how much I ask them, they will kick me back into Hell.
If I could steal anything from these doctors, I want to steal their energy. I wish to never sleep again. I want to watch them live their lives. I live for their failures and traumas. How I wish I could watch their loved ones die right in front of them, unable to stop them. I want to see them crumble and fall victim to addiction and pain. My one dream is to watch them descend into Hell. Without the ability to sleep, I would monitor them at all hours like they do to me. I'll never be able to die either, since a body must permanently be asleep in order to die. I would gain immortality all thanks to their essence. Even if they were to fall into a coma, I would still watch them. I would watch their heart rate and breathing patterns, patiently waiting for the day it explodes or stops completely. I would never pull the plug, though. They and their loved ones deserve to suffer for as long as they can.
Everyday I wander these halls in search of a family. Someone who is willing to feed me and provide me with proper care. Of course, I would do my share of work around the place. However, when I look at the doctors and the other patients, I see no family. They are simply strangers who wish to give their love and affection to someone else. All they provide me with is the bare minimum. They feed me bread and water and pump me full of drugs in order for me to get my remaining nutrients. Whenever I see other patients, we only do the bare minimum of the activities the doctors force us to do. It's not bonding. It's a chore. If any of us were free, we could share, create, and laugh without a care. As long as we are monitored, we can't use our potential to the fullest. If I were a parent, would this style of caring and parenting rub off on me? If I were to hold a crying baby in my arms, would I snap and kill it due to me wanting peace and quiet?
If I'm lucky, the doctors will allow me to read. Those books allow me to actually provide empathy to people who deserve it, even though they're fictional. They have such a wide range of books, and yet they're only harmless classics. Nothing that's willing to challenge my viewpoint on this world. I have plenty of books I'd like to read while trapped here. Everytime I suggest a book, they ban it. Oftentimes I wonder if I'm the only one whose access is restricted to those books. Hell, they even forced me to sign a contract just for the privilege of reading words on paper! Since the last time they showed me the list, the following books are banned: No Longer Human, Demian, The Moon Over the Mountain, The Metamorphosis, Strait is the Gate, First Love, Somokuto, The Miner, Notes from Underground, The Myth of Sisyphus, Frankenstein, Alice in Wonderland, The Little Prince, The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Dogra Magra, Harmony, Fahrenheit 451, Solaris, The Door into Summer, A Story for You, Permutation City, Fight Club, The Thousand Year Beach, Self-Reference Engine, The Sirens of Titan, Side by Side Dreamers, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, and The Dreaming Jewels. Oddly enough, I'm allowed to read religious texts like the Bible. Apparently, it's wrong for me to read books about people getting into conflicts over society and themselves, but it's perfectly fine to read about violence as long as God wants you to read about it. I sometimes ask them if they can offer my writings for the other patients to read as a way to hopefully give them a voice. I only asked that once, though. They ended up burning it right in front of my face, which led me to hide all my writing supplies from them.
I used to think I was so logical. I loved calmy thinking out problems. However, it now seems like I never had a mind to begin with. The doctors always talk about how stupid I am while gossiping to the others thinking that I can't hear them. They wonder why my family never informed them of my mental state. I always wish I could tell people, but since I'm already here, they will want to lock me up even more.
Do spirits really roam this realm? Am I truly alone, or are there beings who I cannot see who judge me and wish to torment me? Are they the ones who make my mind behave in this way? I have never used a Ouija board before, but I have heard other patients talk about using them in the past. I wonder if using that board is what put them in here. Did the messages they received drive them insane? I believe that should those spirits exist, they should simply rest in peace, rather than be tampered with by people who want their questions answered.
Everyday I feel lost and nauseous. I hear screams as my body sways endlessly. I feel intense winds hit my body as I wish to hear from someone who cares about me. Will anyone hear me out here? One of these days, I'm going to crash and burn as rocks pierce my flesh and my blood spills out. No one will care. The janitor will just wipe up my blood and call the morgue. I feel like my soul is vomiting. Everytime I open my mouth, I feel a bit of my soul leaving me.
God, why must you invade my soul? Why is your presence constantly surrounding me? My guardian angels are making me sick. I always pray, but they never help. You're just filling me with a false sense of hope. You just want the others to hear my prayers so they will start doing the same just to inflate your ego. I have gone mad from a combination of the drugs and a belief in you. Leave my life! Why must you watch this planet? Haven't you had enough watching humanity sin?
I have gone insane. No matter what I do, the outcome is always the same. I make a mess and prove to the world that I deserve to be here! I'll never leave! Why does anyone want to help me if they know that I'm incurable? Do the doctors just want to appear as if they know what they're doing? Do the patients just want someone that they can use to say "I may be miserable, but thank God I'm not them."? Why does it seem like everyone else can be cured?
I see all sorts of monsters thanks to hallucinations. All sorts of demons who want to kill me and make me suffer. It doesn't matter what mythology they're from or if they're usually portrayed as "good." Even the holiest of angels wants to torture me and make me worthless. Why haven't those demons killed me then? Are they simply allowing me to live just so their suffering will continue? They must think that I don't deserve any sort of afterlife. I'll be stuck rotting on this planet while those around me get to ascend to Heaven or fall into Hell while I'm left alone.
My bones always feel crushed. I'm being manipulated by some unseen force as if I were clay. I have no control of my body, mind, or soul. I'm just a vessel meant to simply be insane and provide others with an example on how not to be a human. Whoever is in charge of me loves to hurt me, but they never kill me. I can never get release.
Someone wake me up! Everyday I feel like I'm trapped in a coma. I'm in a nightmare I can't escape from. It seems like no matter how loud I scream or how much I listen, no one can wake me up. Should I be inside a coma, is it a punishment? Who would want to hurt me and force me into this Hell? Was it myself who wanted to reject reality and enter a dream gone horribly wrong?
The doctors say I have no moral compass. I always act out for no reason. They say that they're punishing me for the greater good. They say that when I'm broken, I'll change for the better. They say that I'm jealous of the other patients and their mental capacity. They say that my mental illness stems from inferiority. I was so intent on copying them that I drove myself into a state of insanity just to be seen as "superior." They say that I have too much energy. I'm always running around in an attempt to escape. They see sudden bursts in energy as if I could do a backflip all of sudden despite having never tried before and hurting myself in the process. They say that my imagination and imagery are so vivid, dark, and insane; although I know it must be because of the drugs they force me to take. No sane person could have such nightmares.
Why do we have possessions? Why does everyone I see in the media flaunt what they own and how rich they are. Even the other patients do the same in an attempt to be higher up on some kind of hierarchy. Why are these celebrities worshiped just as much as God? Those celebrities are just people like you and I. Why do they deserve so much power? In fact, God is just a normal person at the end of the day, isn't He? We always portray Him as a human in the media, and since we're all people like Him, what gives God the right to all that power?
I once heard the doctors say that they gave up on me. I'm helpless and incurable. They said that only God could help me now, but given my mental instability, even God has given up on me. I now know for a fact that I'm destined to rot away in here forgotten. Why do they still want to work with the other patients yet abandon me?
Why are you here? What makes you want to know so much about me? Don't you know that the only way to be in the same halls as me is to be mentally ill? Unless of course you're a doctor. I bet you're here to beat me and burn all my writings making sure that my voice is never heard. Or would you rather drug me and give me more nightmares?
Do you recognize the shapes I see during my hallucinations? Can you identify everything that I can use to harm myself? Do you want to watch my blood spill? If so, you must be one of the doctors, or a patient who wants to leave just as much as I do.
How did I end up here anyways? Was I lured here because I felt like this place would give me a sense of adventure and satisfaction? Perhaps I have become like Alice from Alice in Wonderland. I'm here because I'm mad, and in this world, laws don't apply. Why else would I be forced to hallucinate if not because I'm mad? It's obvious that the doctors and other patients are mad. That must mean that I'm mad too. How long have I been here? How long have I been writing?
I've given up. I want someone to kill me. It doesn't matter if it's a doctor or a patient. Someone just kill me. Let me rot. I want to become a spirit. Let me roam endlessly in an afterlife. Clearly, Earth has nothing for me. The only place I'll bloom and find some sort of happiness is somewhere where I simply don't exist. There, my only goal is to remain for eternity. I no longer care to write, cry, scream, or beg for freedom. I just want rest. I want my organs to stop. I want to close my eyes and forget all my pain. Hell, I'll even take a coma. Let me enter a dream world where I can forget everything about reality that I love and hate. Let me become the God of my own dream world, and once I have fully fallen victim to the illusion and have accepted that the dream is Earth reborn, free from everything that gives me feeling, pull the plug and trap me.