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Insanity isn't some kind of malfunction in the brain or wayward chemicals bumping into each other out of confusion. It's just when a person decides to drop the act. Everyone around us smiles and laughs at every joke and cute kitten they see, but we, the slightly 'deranged' can't be distracted by such bullshit. We are too busy having conversations in our head.



Side 1: That is most definitely a snake in my bed.

Side 2: No it's not, it's just the blanket.

Side 1: No, I'm fairly certain it's crawling on me now. and it has friends.

Side 2: Let's look together, shall we?



And depending on which medication you decided to take that morning depends on if it's a snake or a blanket.

Sitting in that hospital for 6 months was a reprieve. Those pale walls were comforting and I couldn't help but feel better. I was free from expectations and demands. For what expectations could be had from the insane? The outside world kept turning and I was fine with that. Let the people keep moving from point A to point B. I ate, slept and woke someplace in the middle every day. I can either kill myself and get it right this time or try to kill myself and get it wrong and end up back in my sanctuary. Everyone there was fucked up. But they are more my family than anyone else ever had been. After this last time, I felt lighter, I felt better than I had in a long time. Perhaps I did succeed in killing some part of me. But like a bad pesticide, the weeds are starting to come back.

What the fuck am I doing back here. I enjoy the torture, I suppose. I should go back to that diary I abuse. I'm so fucking emo. Kill me.