My Insanity

I’m crazy. I’m certifiably insane, they’ve all said it and I don’t disagree anymore.

I see through people sometimes. Just like they’re sheets of tissue paper—I see things written on them but I can still see through them, they’re all just transparent. Especially the ones that try to make themselves so complicated. It scares me some, the girls that try to paint themselves, to wear as many layers as they can, make themselves solid . . . but then they’re dragged down so they drown . . . they drown in the quick current, that rush that drags violently at your ankles every time you try to walk upstream. Then if you try to walk downstream, it still catches at you, pulling you faster and faster until there is no hope of stopping and going back to the beginning.

Those are the kinds of thoughts that make people think I’m insane. Little things like comparing people to types of paper—they check the little row of boxes at the bottom of the sheet of paper, their special ball point pens never squeaking like the cheap fucking bics they give us to write with, the special girls anyway, the ones that have been promoted to only insane instead of criminally insane. I feel sorry for the fucking demoted girls.

I am so insane I don’t even know it. That’s the most insane of all. I’m really smart though, I’m so fucking smart and yet, I can’t go to the grocery store without an escort. I’m dangerous they say, a menace to society and I almost have the urge to just do something one day that will throw them all—stick my cheap bic through my hand or something. Just do something that will confirm all their diagnoses and suspicions. It would be worth the pain just to see the look on the nurse’s face. The damn nurse just wanders around, ducking out back to sneak a smoke every chance she gets. Fucking nurse never notices that her patients don’t take the pills she so faithfully gives us. She never checks under the mattress or in the hollow bedposts or down the drain. And she wonders why the Valium never takes affect.

I escaped once. I barely even meant to. I didn’t take days and weeks and months of planning like the other stupid fucking girls that try to escape and end up getting caught anyway. I was standing there, waiting for my meds when suddenly, I saw the keys sitting there. The nurse was still in the supply closet. I snatched the keys and walked down the hall. Nobody ever stopped me, grand fucking security systems and I just walked out the door, into the parking lot and found a car with it’s keys still in the ignition. Trusting employees ought to be taught a lesson. I’d driven half way across the state when I turned around and went back. I didn’t have anywhere to go, no point in escaping. They never left the keys there again and sometimes, I think I should have just kept driving. The ocean would have eventually stopped me if the officials didn’t stop me first. But I was stupid then.

The only people in this place that have any idea what they’re doing at all are the insane ones. Take my roommate for example. The girl has no reason to be in here at all, other than a feigned suicide. It was a one-time incident that got her sorry ass tossed in here until hell freezes over. I’m sure she regrets those slices. But the girl is perfectly level. She scares me like that. She can’t dance, you know. Somehow, the sane people can never dance right. Me, I can dance. To any kind of music. I can dance to the music that only my fucking screwed mind can hear the best. It’s a wild beat, exotic, lusty. It is an all girls ward but that didn’t stop me. I found ways.

I see people sometimes. I see them wandering down the halls and I used to try to talk to them but the nurses tried to ram more pills down my throat than usual, so I stopped. The people look at me now, I think they miss my brilliant conversation. I miss talking to them, actually. But anything for less pills.

There are ribbons tied to the wrists of all the people here. They’re color-coded but nobody thinks we’re smart enough to figure out what each color means. They’re sure we’re all stupid crazy people, but no, we’re only crazy. We’re fucking smart crazies though. They should learn that. The colors tell us how messed up we are and I got black, the most screwed up of all. I love my ribbon though. Some of the girls try to hide the ribbons but I like it and I make sure to show it to all the visitors. I rush up to them, just to see them cringe and shudder at me. None of them know how perfectly insane I am, really. Perfectly.

When I stand next to the radio in the rec. room, the reception gets really bad. Nobody ever figures it out, not even that blonde girl. Everybody thinks should be able to figure everything out. She’s so smart and all. Nobody ever asked her to talk about herself though. Ask her, just walk up and ask her how her mom’s doing. She’ll turn white and begin to bawl big tears and she’ll run and hide for days. She did that once. We couldn’t find her for a week and when we did, she was about dead, she was so hungry. She’ll leave it up to me to walk up to these visitors and tell them all about how she sliced her parents up into nice thin pieces. She’ll let me tell the tale of the murders that made the front page, the tragic story, they all say. A girl with such potential. Nobody ever suspected it of the girl on the honor roll.

I’ve got some permanent markers. I’ll let you see them some time. If you smell them long enough, you can get a little high but usually, they take them away by that time. But just to impress them, to thread them along, I write death-related words on my walls. One time, I spent an entire day drawing a picture of the crucifixion on my floor. They scolded me and took my markers away before getting the janitor to bring the floor polisher in and to erase it. It’s great though, this crazy thing. I just see what I can do to shock them next.

Once I climbed on the dessert table in the cafeteria during lunch and stripped. Another fucked up girl started beating out a strip song on the tables, using her knife and spoon. I threw my shirt at the cook and made her drop the Jell-O. There’s still a big green stain on the floor behind the counter. I would have finished the strip tease if the cheering and hollering hadn’t gotten so loud and attracted some of the orderlies who pulled me down off the table. I gave them a good show though, thrashing, screaming . . . more boxes checked on my evaluation form.

I like to tell stories. Now they wrote a new diagnosis in my folder, called me a compulsive liar. I just laughed in their faces. I don’t lie . . . I just tell stories. It’s not my fucking fault if everyone believes them. They can’t tell me I can’t tell my stories. They’re harmless tales, for the most part. Of course, there are exceptions. The ones that make the girls scream from fright are the best. That means the hall monitor has to wake up all the staff, especially the matron. She’s such an incredible bitch and she thinks that she can scare me, but she can’t. The encore strip tease I did on her desk earned me a week in solitary but I didn’t give a fuck. The room is twice as big and I don’t have to put on a show for anyone then. I can be myself in there. But I don’t let down my act for too long. I have to remind them that I’m still crazy.

If you’ll dance with me here for a bit, maybe you can be crazy too. I used to not believe them when they said I was crazy but really, there’s no point in disagreeing with them. Just never swallow their pills or their stories because they’re just trying to fuck with your mind and my best advice is for you to fuck with theirs too. Being insane is much more enjoyable when you accept it and live up to their expectations. So just dance with me for a few moments. They don’t expect us to, so we have to. Who cares if there isn’t any music. I can hear that beat inside my head and it’s really sultry tonight. See if you can hear it too, if you just start dancing. Shit, you’re wearing too many clothes to dance right now. Take a little clothes off first, honey, then try it . . . there you go. You’re looking mighty insane now. Come on, we’ll have to work on perfecting that crazy look in your eyes though. I’ve memorized it. You’ve got to get this glint that makes them think you’re going to lift a knife to them or yourself any moment. You’ve got to make them believe that you’re past the point of recovery. You’ve got to be fucking wild and hot and you’ve got to play the part of a whore in their mind. You’ve got to move just right and give them anything they need to keep up the insane reputation. Don’t worry you’ll get it. Just hop up here for your first lesson. Just dance with me here for a few minutes girl and they’ll think you’re just as fucked up as they think I am. They’re right too, aren’t they? I am fucked up. But it’s a hell of a lot more fun being crazy.

I’m crazy. I’m certifiably insane, they’ve all said it and I don’t disagree anymore.

Personaly I think your one of the Sainest people I know ... But I understand ... I was in almost the Exacpt same Case ...

Its Basicly that you worry more about life than bother to live it. You have the equilent to ESP becuase You need to know What is Happeing before It happens ... becuase You don't want to be hurt ... You want to be certain ... about everything .. You like logic and Objectivity ...You label yourself as You and everyone else as them ... You make up stories becuase You realy don't know the truth about yourself ... your spending way too much time worrying about how everyone else is thinking ... It's an Addiction ... plain and simple.... Your atticted to knowing ... everything ... But not Enjoying it ... It's like Watching the Star wars Trillogy for the 60^th time in a row ... You just want to Die ... you don't need that crap anymore ... Try Doing something stupid and harmless for awhile ... that you have never done before ... But still feel realityly safe at doing ...(NOt perfectly safe thats the whole point) You need to find some fresh air ... Fresh stories ... Watch a Movie ... that you have never heard of before ... even if the Title sucks ... DOn't watch all of the previues about the movie ... (For me the X-men movie did the charm ... and Pokemon helped a little..) You need something new something fresh ... Not the same old crap day in and day out ... that's why I tell stories ... It's fresh I've never heard them before ... And they alwas change ... You would make A very great Aritst of writer ... You've seen most of everthing else in existance .... But you've never seen what you Imagine ... no one has ... You need to make for youself what Hollowood can't anymore .... And Those people who make those movies and stoires tht you used to like.... They are exacply like you and me ... They are so sick of old crap they want something new ... something fun something crazy and Unbelivable ... something weird and funky ... I loved your Letter ... It shows great Litterary Talent. You have the skill you Have the Abilliy ... Don't Bother about Grammer or Sentance stucture what you want is Fresh ... Don't buy into old English Rules for writing ... Break them and Make.... Make up your one... Nothing can ever stop you as a writer ... A good pen and Papper is all that you need ... and You can always find them ... you can even by a tape recorder and record the Stories that you tell other people ... They arn't lies any more ... Their the Preview to the next hollowood moive... as soon as you get all your excess engery and idea's out of your mind ... everything will return to normal ... you won't need to be Psycic anymore ... It won't matter .... Life will be fun again.

... My 33 1/3 Cents worth ... It helped me alot to write this thank-you ... You have given me hope for I just made up everything I just said too... and I liked it : ) ... I can't seem to Do much of anything with out an audiance listening or A topic or something to respond to I'm like a Genie who can't grant his own wishes , but can to others... even go to the Store ... I tried being my own adiance but thats when people call me weird.

Who ever you are ... Everything that You know and have experianced can serve you if you write about it ... I know I do. Thank-you Please don't give up ... Unless You want to ... Everything will Be fine ... The problem is your solution ... Write more like you just did and you will have publishers on your door-step asking for a copy of your book. ... I know I will ... I would love to read more of your witings ... Wiki is a wonderful place ... Just Search for My name ... and you can see whats going on in my mind ... Feel free to tack on What you like and comment on them ... It would help me greatly ... and I would finaly have some feedback and someone to write back and forth too.

a very Agitated but Calm and Happy Joyful-Spirit