“Am I crazy or not?”

The sky seemed oddly dark that day and there was a chilly breeze. I got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind me, "Why am I here?" I thought…or said aloud… I didn't think there was a legitimate reason. Thoughts were racing through my head as my parents led me down the sidewalk. I wondered if I might be arrested for what I had done. Yet, it had to be a joke; I knew they could not arrest me for this. I had committed no crime. I also knew that this would not be what you under normal circumstances even call an episode of crazy.

I thought I had completely recovered. I had overcome this debilitating disease. I also had a lot of things going on inside me that I couldn't just shove aside. It was the accumulated snowball of everything I had been through and when all that got tossed aside, the wreckage of my very being became the object of another practical joke.

"This is what crazy looks like!" I smiled and I laughed. "This is crazy!" "Look!" "Look!" I was angry. I took her little piece of china and threw it onto the floor and it smashed into a million tiny pieces.

I had decided that I didn't need therapy about a year before this episode. I was argumentative with people. Sometimes I wonder if I was just too beaten down and tired out to combat my own anxieties about everyone around me. When being patronized and pushed into a corner, you aren't really given a choice as to who you really are.

My psychiatrist had told me that I was lucky to have such a nice family. The psychiatrist said that since I thought I was better and I wanted off the meds it was my choice, so she closed the book and out I went. But that freedom didn't last very long. I got confused.

I’m entering this despicable lobby, awaiting treatment, meds, the stretcher where I would be strapped onto, possibly unconsciously, and who knew where I’d end up? Who could know what rights might be taken away from me while in there? In that place, or was it a place at all?

This alleged "episode" still...is feeling like total bull to me.

Sure I was a little out there, but is there really a need send me to a correctional facility all for breaking a little antique cup?

I wasn't suicidal, I wasn't angry, no it was worse...I was starving for something…maybe understanding. But what would it matter?

I used the bathroom in the ER. I felt normal, I felt OK. I was ok then, I remember I was ok then....before they took me into the waiting room...before I asked to be taken home and six security guards came and stood in front of the exit doors then led me through the rooms in the ER to where I wouldn't be seen. In the waiting room and then they made me sit on this couch staring up into the vents for six hours.

Where was I going to end up? Then finally "Do you know where you're going?...”

My thoughts kept racing, racing into these ideas of what I was going to be put through in one of those mental wards. Even though I felt terrified...I began hearing voices that told me to look up into the vents. Would this become some sort of coping mechanism for me? Hm, perhaps I just need to “vent”?

In the lobby, I sat there and waited. The silence felt surreal and uncanny to me. It was too quiet for comfort. People were mesmerized by the television set protruding overhead from the wall. What were they even doing with me? It was so disturbing, because not one noticed me.

"You wanted to see crazy!" I screamed. I wanted to get away with it I guess. But they had told me that I needed to see a therapist constantly, that. “I was bothering them”...something was bothering them about me. I freaked out or maybe I was a freak.

Mom: "You might be in worse places than a hospital if you didn't have parents like us, on the street or like in jail!"

I just wanted to know that I was safe.

"Get in," He said then, "I'm taking you to the hospital. If you don't walk yourself I'm going to have to drag you."

I think he was more upset about the antique cup than anything else.

But it was “the right thing to do,” I was a danger to myself, right? A danger to others... I was dangerous although really I remained perfectly calm throughout it all. Well, that is until I shattered like that little china cup.

"You're going to the hospital" He had said. I hid in the pine trees for an hour until I saw his car pulling up. Yeah, I thought, I am fine. God! I am perfectly fine for the first time and right now here they are ready to take me away. Take me away!

Here I was sitting in the emergency room next to mom waiting for nothing as I’m staring straight ahead into the nothing. There was a sign on the wall with instructions on the different stages of washing your hands and it seemed ridiculous to me. Would that be irrational?

None of it was paranoia. It just all felt incredulous and wrong. The whole thing was DRIVING me crazy.

Why me? Why here? What the hell did I do and why couldn't I just get out of here...that's when the fears started to accumulate. Anxieties after anxieties were passing through my mind of what was going to be done to me at the hospital. I had not had any "good" experience in the time I had been in the hospital in the past.

In fact, it was a source of my post traumatic stress. But my parents were acting as if it was a punishment. Not, oh you are sick and we're trying to help you.

So I shifted my focus from the sign on the wall about washing hands to the doors of the Emergency Room. As they opened and closed, I thought about mom when she was in jail for protesting whinsec... about those doors, the kind of doors you can't open up from the insides. Those doors were prison doors, prison doors for the sick...but what kind of doors would they have at this place? People kept rushing in and out in and out of those doors, and no one knew me, no one saw me. No, I was so invisible to all the doctors and security guards and medics and nurses and my parents and my friends at home who didn't really care.

It was a deafening sort of feeling. It was completely deafening. I was helpless. At seventeen there was no way they were going to acknowledge my intelligence. At seventeen I was going to be reduced to the level of a thirteen year old. But everyone there was out to get me, everyone there was out to get me because everyone there was walking past and no one even noticed me...not sick. Me...Not sick at all.

Well, times like these when you find yourself in a state of utter isolation and desperation...you may think it's over. It will never ever leave you and in due time the memory does come rushing back in. The memory will play out before your eyes, you don't need to see but you will see it in dazzling white colors. It's a beautiful movie; it's the movie of your life.

Can't they see that I am not crazy! I'm not out of control, no violent maniacal behaviors, no screaming, and no goofy conversations with myself or am I seeing green aliens? What the heck is the matter with me?

I didn't do anything that wrong! I'm not a drug addict, I don't do anything wrong at all. I'm practically a Saint! I'm just sitting here and I am waiting and waiting for what? I just want to go home, or even just out of this building. But they WON’T let me leave the building. I'm seventeen, for Christ's sakes you can't just keep me here. Yeah, I may be crazy but that doesn't mean I'm clinically insane! Why the hell are they putting me through all this?Thist will never ever go away...

I wanted to get better, like I was, ok so maybe I’d have to take a pill so I'd take a pill! It doesn't mean I need to be hospitalized. This is a punishment. I am being punished for being sick. And because I'm not acknowledging that I am sick I am being punished...that's all it ever was. My disobedience...

Now my thoughts are really racing. But I just go back to staring at the poster on the wall. Step 2. Rinse with Warm Water.

So, that's how they'll do it. THAT'S how it'll happen to me. I see most of the people in the waiting room are watching Martha Stuart's Cooking Show on the television set. Suddenly my eyes avert to the revolving doors and become transfixed there. I begin imagining what happens in there. What's going to happen to me?

It begins to become perfectly clear to me. I know what's going to happen now.

I will come back out through these same two revolving doors a completely new person. I will be perfectly organized and utterly brainwashed to love Martha Stuart.

I can see it now...I begin to have these little skits in my head. I am being brainwashed before a television screen, the screen is blank, my ears are ringing, I can't comprehend anything but what they tell me that it is.

I am responsive: I watch the television screen and Martha Stuart is there and as the rest of the world just washes away, all that's left...this waste of a brain and would it ever end? Yes, that's all they will let me do...they will force me to watch Martha Stuart over and over again.

There is no way back from this point. This is that pivotal moment when your perfect life rearranges completely. Three years after an attempted suicide, and here I was in the same damn place going through the same damn procedure for no real reason that I could even perceive myself. 

They don't knock me out or even bother putting me in the stretcher and that is fine by me. But, they take me three hours out of state after I had been waiting for six hours just to know where I was going to end up. I have nothing that I can say but my anxieties are building/ anxieties completely based on the idea that I am being captured and abducted from my home by aliens...who are NOT going to try to take care of me.

11:00 pm

We finally arrived nine hours later. I looked up at the big brick building and could only feel my stomach churn. This place looks like a prison, for sure.  I feel so much of that nothing growing inside of me.

They take me in through the entrance into the hospital. This is where they are going to do strange experiments with my head. I don't want to go inside. I can see blue curtains hiding people...people that have been taken hostage like me, but more likely the unluckier ones. Who knows, maybe I'll make it out alive. So they make me get onto a stretcher because it is still their policy; and then they wheel me up the elevator and I just give an odd smirk to everyone. I feel ridiculous and the whole experience is very patronizing. Then I am admitted and led in through the doors. I feel a little ok, although disassociated from all this stress.

Maybe they will try to help me? There are no strange scientists hiding behind these blue curtains or metal bars. But all I want is to be left alone. A sense of calm settles down over me and I feel like I am safe once again. I am to meet with an older woman with blondish hair who fills out paperwork and a questionnaire.

"So, do you have any history of drug usage?"

"No.

I don't think I answered yes to any of her questions.

I'm taken down to the "cafeteria" by two orderlies. One of them gets me a juice box while the other watches over my shoulder. I am still waiting to see a doctor for my physical.

It was so quiet and peaceful in there and at length the orderlies came and took me to my bedroom. I crawled into bed and tried to sleep but at length they woke me up for the actual physical.

Later, a younger man pulled out a stethoscope and measured my heartbeat. Then, finally, I flopped down letting my body relax into the hard bed. As I lay in my tiny bed I stared up at the vents in the ceiling. It would a peaceful sleep without the drugs…one that would be remembered.

Once again I'm staring into the ceiling, but now I'm completely in the dark, scared, and I'm completely alone with my mind. I begin to think I can hear people outside whispering about me...

"Oh, She is a Schizophrenic."

"Do you know what they do with people like those..."

"Execution..."

"This is wrong..."

"Well I tried to argue with them"

"I tried to tell em' she seemed fine to me..."

She’s a schizophrenic.

Yes, and I can still see them digging outside my window. That must be where they bury all the dead bodies. That must be what they do with crazy people like us, with people like me. I couldn’t wait to wake up from this nightmare.

"You know what they do to those..."

"schizophrenic!"

"They put her on..."

"Execution..." "How sad!"

"I tried to argue!"

I kept hoping that the driver who brought me here explained to them that I wasn't really schizophrenic, that I didn't belong here inside this prison. I figured I'd only be there for a day.

Dearest Journal,

I'm sitting on a tiny chair in a tiny cell trying to get my head out of this place. I'm tired and feeling so slow. I can't seem to get these thoughts out but I'm trying to. I feel like I'm going to be erased. I feel hollow and mute, like a mime.

Where am I going? I feel like I've been wheeled in through a tunnel of light just to find at the that end of the tunnel was hell. Maybe I'm really going to hell you know? Or maybe I'm going to that after place they call heaven. Maybe this is heaven!

He left but now I know they might wake me up in the night and force needles into my arms. I have visions sometimes of the future. In hospitals it happens the most. Something about the mundane, repetitive, washing, pill taking..things are too clear not to see right through to the other side.
Maybe that's why glass windows are everywhere. So clear that the doctors can see all of you no matter where they are.

I'm taking pills for anxiety. They make me feel sick and maybe they're doing more to me than I think. Why am I taking so much medicine? They’re trying to make me into a new person like maybe I'm going to turn into a zombie. I have an incurable illness I think. Wherever it happens to be living or breathing… there isn't any drug that’s going to kill it. But they want to kill me this way.

Is it because of my attitude or maybe just because of myself in general that I'm being pushed around? I enjoy life and I'm happy...I don’t need medication. It was an accident! There should be more understanding for accidents...I am an accident. I'm so tired. Why am I here? I want to go home. But instead of being home I'm here, in this place.

As time moved on I had tried to act "normal", but my efforts weren't counted. I was coloring, participating, setting out my dirty clothes, making my bed up neatly, and yet none of it was counted. They didn't seem to notice or care.

They had me on Behavioral Observation for a week. I thought it was like a sort of torture, like their control device. When I finally realized that I had to put a check mark next to my name that meant I had done what I had, it felt like it was too late anyways. I had already been wiped away.

Dear Journal,

Where am I? I'm very nervous and I'm still on the slow side. No one has bothered to talk to me or to explain anything to me. No one has taken the strings out of my shoes yet. I'm happy that I can still wear my black leather boots.
I’m not going to be diverted right now. Do I really talk in circles? Cause that's what they told me. A whole group of them called me in for team. I had apparently caused some scene because I walked to the door and pushed it. I had been "yelling"? It’s really like they just want you to shut up and listen. I just want to go home. I hate it here.
Right now I am so apathetic. That’s why I need my comfort food. I’m starving. They should’ve just sent me to boot camp I would have liked it better. I hate being such a wreck. No big emergency…here other than my stomach's being raped with toxic poisons.

I’m being purged of all my insufficiencies, my irrational behavior- my insomnia, my bad posture or my "mania".

I'm crazy, I have an excuse, I can’t help it. That’s what they tell me anyways.
And I'm getting nothing out of group therapy.  But I'm learning what to watch out for. I'm learning about how people here must be going through a lot...and need to be treated the best way possible even despite how they treat you.

Dearest Journal,

I'm wearing my own brand new clothes. I felt kind of sick. My parents never buy me clothes- was this some sort of sick reward? Now they buy me these clothes just to wear while I'm in here. I keep getting jealous, why do some of the kids get away without taking these sedating pills? I know why. Because I'm a "schizophrenic".

Why am I such a monster? Why don't I feel like i'm doing anything other than fading, really fading, like I'm becoming a ghost.
I think that the former patient in this room must've had a really bad cough. The air in here tastes contaminated and smells like puke. This anxiety has made me feel really anemic.

Dear Journal,

I've been taking my pills though but now I'm getting hiccup-spasms all the time. That's why I had "refused" one of them just awhile ago. I talked to a nurse about it, she said well you don’t have to take these pills if you don’t want to. I told the nurse that  I didn't want to take them and they got their authorities to punish me.

Just like the nurse said I could do, I quietly refused. then the doctor came in and sat on my bed. She laid out the facts- "If you refuse your medicine again you will be given an injection." I know that they are more painful but the injection choice goes deeper than that...it goes back to another time when I was injected as a punishment for refusing meds/when I was stuck in isolation for two days.

Dear Journal,

Why are they changing the medicine already? What the hell? I'm a paranoid schizophrenic? Am I really a paranoid schizophrenic?
They treat me like I’m not really here. How can I not be paranoid? No one speaks with me. Should I try to act more irrational just so they think I'm agreeable? I guess so. I am afraid that the medicine will be too hard on me…like I’m afraid it’ll make me get worse…but they don’t listen…

Last night I had a dream about a doctor, he was trying to explain to some people that a blood test had shown a significant decrease in his white blood cells. He said that the damage could be fatal but the other doctors wouldn't listen. He wanted to release the information to the patient but they said it wasn't necessary.

/When I finally got up to permission to leave one of our Councilors took us out at around nine o clock into the front of the hospital and told us some creepy stuff. She bothered me and I got scared and asked to go back inside after I couldn't stand it. I was still paranoid. Here we were out in the open late at night in front of the giant hospital and no one even knew it./

One morning just as I had suspected a nurse came in and gave me some pills to take with the threat of an injection. I took the pills and that's when all the shit started.

That's when I began to think I was getting advice from Angelina Jolie. She would tell me how to fix up my clothes and look sexy. I heard her voice inside of me and it was like I was becoming a part of her.

Not only was I thinking like her, I was also acting like her. For awhile it was her or me. Finally glaring into the mirror in my room I said NO to Angelina Jolie and went back to myself. I couldn't understand her anymore. She was growing angrier and angrier. Maybe I should have let Angelina win....maybe then I would still be....someone with an attitude who everyone loved.

One night I was busy tearing up my shirts and making them into different tank tops. I was losing weight and was happy with the way I felt in them. I ended up with something that looked more or less like a noose. It was a bunch of pant leg strips and clothes tied around it but it made the perfect noose in my opinion. I looked at it....then I walked into the halls and threw it away.

But of course I was getting help. I had the medications that were being fed to me daily. No longer did I have a fear of the med-dispenser man or the nurses. I no longer feared them even though I knew secretly that a little piece inside of me was going to have to burst to get this medicine working

I listened to the voices. They told me things.” Eat lots of grains with your pills, it's hard on your stomach.”
“ Watch out for him. Why are you standing in the window? They'll see you..”
And one that surprised me the most was when they got upset. "What! You're not going to get follow-up!" "Look at her!" And unfortunately I was the only one who could understand them, what they meant, could hear them./

Dear Journal,

I'm in a torture chamber; I can't pretend to be happy like they want me to. Everyone needs to fake it. In six months I'll be out on my own, get an apartment, going to college. Fuck school anyways..fuck it all in general. I like the way they treat me like I’m a flipped out fourteen yr old. I'm going to keep on writing. I don't even have an eraser.

I must be a saint for doing this: a "schizophrenic"...and is one who cannot "control" a certain behavior deemed as inappropriate such “abusive to her mother” and “breaks things all the time”… and apparently…screaming all day and every day about all things and everything… reverse psychology...here….Mind Control.

What's the difference? Control my mind- order me around and tell me who I am… I don't have a choice…do I...I don't have choice. I don't have the right to refuse “treatment”.

Are they trying to get me to lose my mind? Set up a session and I'll confess all of my sins! Don't pretend I'm the one who's being secretive- that’s another lie. I'm smart, but it seems that everywhere I go...I try really hard but I just seem to do everything and everything happens on accident.

I’m aware of everything- you’re all completely insane…
Maybe I'm lucky... I could have ended up in a million different places.

I was on the verge of a breakdown waiting- I was handled by six security guards. Were they trying to trip me out? I just had no choice in the matter. And all over a fight.

Once I walked in those doors, I wasn't allowed to go back out. I tried to walk out, then they got security to take me away so that no one could see when my dad carried me back into that room…then they debated whether to knock me out.

I think it was the same exact waiting room I was in three years ago, after trying to kill myself. Now it's a slight miscommunication. See, a broken piece of china isn't abuse- it's shattered glass...I know the difference between shattered glass and a shattered psyche. They're repeatedly telling me I'm psychotic. Over and over and over. Can you prove it to me?

I had a lot of blood drawn. I've never had that done before. It left a yellow bruise on my left arm where it was accidentally done twice. They took like four bottles- my hands went white and limp. They felt slippery, I was worried they’d never feel the same again. I must be a scientific experiment.

They'll sell my particles to clone manufacturers. Being kept in here like this is so wrong. I was forced into this place, by crazy fucks. It's funny because all I did was go insane. I broke an antique…a three inch cup…and then my mom must've compressed charges against me, saying that I was “screaming at her every day.” But that's a lie! I mean a total lie! She screams more! It's either that she's delirious or it's some far fetched exaggeration.

I've lost all faith in mental health in general. It's all games and guessing in this place. People, won't get the facts straight, you're a schizophrenic, you got in a fight with your parents- your parents are in charge then they lock you up..anyways-oh yea- well my parents have been threatening to kick me out of the house on a day to day basis…

I'll go home and I won't have anything...why? because I don't have anyone to be anything to. I don't have anyone else to take me anywhere else and I don't have any other way to get anywhere. I'm not sure if I've lost weight but I did lose faith-so that's enough damage.

The other girls here are mean to me…I’m being harassed by the whole god damn world! I'm an alien. I've never been a human, just a weirdo and maybe that's how everyone wants to see me. I could get a face lift, then I wouldn't look like this anymore. But I won't, I like myself to an extent. I'm thinking about what to do. here. I want to see a doctor, But I never seem to have any time to. They're always away. My social worker is gone. My mom takes too long to get here, all I need is a better mom, I think I'll go live with Sam.

Dear Journal,

I won't be visiting Sam this summer like we had planned who forgot that I'm supposed to be her best friend. She spent her summer with my replacement. I’m not in the picture anymore. So I've been ditched. But I've been meditating…. Nobody else really does anything.. here.

I can become extremely loose in the joints but the next day I'll go right back to the way I was before. Not only do I have a mood problem, been put on anti-biotics, feel nauseous, and need to shave, but there's absolutely no way to talk to anyone around here.
I have so much free time all I can do right now is write. I’m writing right now in my room, even though that's against the rules.

There's no way to socialize. This isn't a week at boot camp but it’s a week in hell where the doctors are God. I just want to look at a list of medications and pick one. Maybe I need to treat my apathy. What a place for someone like me who is bright and articulate- with a slight brain imbalance or deficiency. These places should understand people like they're supposed to.

A brain imbalance isn't really so much a reflection on your behavior but on the way your brain was put together. In here, it's like it's a sickness and almost treated as if you can help it- like you're making it happen for whatever reason- like you’ve been misbehaving...it's like it's your fault.

It’s like you're being punished for it. On top of that, they treat you like you’re younger than you are. Why blame someone for having an incurable illness? For having something like diabetes? Why keep on guessing which type of diabetes they have, type 2? Hmmm Why keep waiting until it's too late. Just keep guessing Until they go into diabetic shock.

Get real, I could have one illness in a million. I haven't really been diagnosed: it was an assumption. If I'm going to get a normal brain, treat me like a normal human being. I'm kind of sensitive, and so having people talk to me this way...it's like I have to defend my positive aspects against my bad ones like you’re "paranoid"…they're just telling me over and over, “you're a schizophrenic”, “you're paranoid”, “you have to take medication”...until it just...

I mean, it really isn't like you have a choice. I want compensation for my pain and suffering. I'm anxious and I’m cold and I want to stop taking these fucking head pills.

I push myself too hard. Why do I have a mental illness? She told me as a patient I don't even have a say as to whether or not I'm psychotic. I'm completely unaware and that even this conversation could come out skewed- and my real memories will be completely different than I perceive them and only the doctor, who'll prescribe me medication so I can think clearly and say what’s what… can tell you what’s actually happened…they tell me I'm crazy and all I have to say is that I'm as sane as I think I am.

She always walks around with a scowl on her face. She basically told me that I'll always be this way- that it's not my choice...and that I'll gradually lose my mind...and that I'm losing it already. I am losing my fucking mind, remember? None of my "points" even matter.

They've kept me down on the behavioral observation level for three days despite my behavior which hasn't been very observed.

I've been absolutely perfect! Despite that this is immoral, it should be illegal, it's force. I'm being kept here against my will. It's wrong. I still want a puppy and I'll get one once I find a new home. I'll move in with Sam or someone.

I want a richer happier better family. Why can't I be adopted? My Realization-I think I verbalize my thoughts, and maybe that's why I have so much trouble thinking. I think to myself all the time but it takes so much energy. I've trained myself this way. If only I could formulate my thoughts into code words or something. It's just that I habitually "hear" myself think; not everyone can do that...can they?

I mean, hear, like a voice- your own voice. I need to improve my memory.

Maybe the sounds are made from audible vibrations formed by the cilia? But no, then again, you can't see dreams! Ok, then how can I HEAR these thoughts? All I know is that I can create a sound in my mind and hear it. It's the same with everything else. I just recreate it. Maybe I'm not doing this right. I need therapy, not drugs, not this. I'm at boot camp for weirdoes. You can't see a sound but they come from the same place as a thought...the head...ahg! This is the doctor's job! What the fuck?

Dear Journal,

My handwriting sucks. In my world I'd get to go everywhere I wanted...I'd also never die. I won't ever die, because my DNA will replicate.
I'll just come back. That's what I want. I also want it to be a secret- so that nobody can destroy me. I wish I was worth something. I want to fall in love. Sometimes I even feel like I'm loved. even here. I feel kind of terrible because of the way the other girls talk to me and treat me. Nobody respects me. I'm sick of all of this. Don't ask me to tell you how I feel! Because I'm empty, I don't feel anything...now they're gonna up my dos of geodon. I'm fine with it.

I'll take the medication and not "refuse" or I'll go insane, I'll have a panic attack because of what they'll do to me! Why are they so demanding of someone who's in critical condition?

My doctor was really nice today, and she said she'll discharge me as soon as she can. The medication is fine. But I feel so on edge, kind of like my nerves have been tightened. matt's kind of mean. There are three men on the staff. They're pretty nice. It's easier to remember them because they have short names. Also, because this is an all female unit.

There are too many women here. When I first got here, I kept thinking I was going to be executed- locked in a room and left there to die...I kept hearing- they put her on execution. I was so paranoid. don't know what the hell was going on. Bang! Surprise!

I'm having a harder time with my handwriting because of my lack of energy. This pill isn't good for me, but I'll take it because- by choice is better than by force- like an injection- the reason I have problems..all because I refused to talk or take any pills.

I need friends, friends that would miss me. Why don't I have friends? Why? Because of this. Because of everyone, because it's how it's always been. I've been eating for comfort. From now on I'll only eat healthy food from the tray...fruit, cereal. well, I'll starve. This stuff can't be good for my diet. maybe I'll lose weight! I must get in shape! No more sugary foods! In here, it's not obvious when all appetites are devoured by medicine. Hey body! Just filter this junk. Don't let it touch your precious mind. Spit it right out and get rid of it. Straight out, straight down and out...and forget the food.

Dear Journal

bipolar/schizophrenic

"irrational"

I'm a bit on the fucked up side. Really feeling ignored...I started having tremors. This is new to me. Maybe I'm lucky, I could've been put in jail for an argument. I just want to talk to someone, anyone, to tell them what happened. But no one wants to talk to me. Now I'm just afraid. I've been punished for it, pushed around. Her feelings always came first. I'm really hungry. I think a voice just told me to cheer up..

But I don't feel like cheering up, I feel alone, empty, manic, and lost to myself and lost to my soul. Help/ why can't anyone help me?

I'm Doing well. Getting "better", my Doctor woke me up and sat down next to me on my bed- then she saw the drool coming down my mouth so she said that I have to stay longer. So…Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday...Happy? So far I've been so peachy! I'm all white glittery smiles! A domesticated princess! Sick Sick Sick abuse. Just send me to the beach, I'll get better- I promise

I'm Going Home,

They're saying that I'm doing so much better, but I have no energy! I think my mind's been struggling with this new medication...or maybe I have. My body's been so zonked, tired, I could barely breath or move my mouth. Now all I want to do is run and run and run.

The staff don't know what's going on inside you, period. You aren't even really allowed near them. What's the point of this? To stabilize? I have realistic fears, why am I not allowed to be afraid? I've been domesticated just like an animal.

This place is fucked up...Why can't I be "irrational" it's a lot easier than barely breathing. People are starting to notice how crazy I'm getting...but now It's because I'm "Bipolar."
I'm so tired of being here in this closed in cell. I'm tired of being told what to do, how to live my life in this moment.

Really, to be honest I've been my own nurse, my own doctor, and even my own parent. The worst part is I've also had to be my own friend. God told me we're all bright stars in a place without walls or dimensions- he also said that anything is possible....He says that death for me is temporary. When I listen, God is always somewhere inside.