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Originally from the story I scraped years ago. (Maybe I'll continue writing this someday)


I’m insane.

Literally insane.

I’m not just saying that.

I know that.

My doctors confirmed that.

My parents loath that.

And I live with that.


Dr. Jolce says that I’m not sick.

I have no brain damage, no injuries. He explains to my parents that my brain is just wired differently; so differently that he doesn’t know how it works, just that I’m still alive. 

I seem normal.

When someone looks at me, they don’t automatically think, “Wow, that kid looks mental!” They think, “Ooh that guy looks suspicious, somebody better check his pockets!” I don’t know what they mean by suspicions but at least that title is more pleasing to the eye than straight up insane.

In my mind, nothing makes sense.

My thoughts are almost never clear.

I think irrationally and can’t control myself.

On the inside, I’m me.

I know what I’m doing whether intentional or not. My thoughts are way saner compared to the rest of me and when at times they aren’t, I’m stuck in someone else’s control and all I can do is watch.

Its hell I suppose.

Never being certain of what I’m going to do or where my delirious brain is going to take me. This fact has taken an even bigger toll on my parents.

I understand why they no longer trust me.

I myself know that I am nowhere close to reliable. My intentions can change in a matter of seconds. It’s unfair really. Because of this, my parents locks me into a teenage proof cage called my bedroom as if I’m going to go suicidal or on a murderous rampage.

My cage is bare.

Nothing but a bed and a dresser really decorates my room. The window has been recently barred up because of my latest outburst. I think I broke a leg. I’m not sure. It’s blurry now.

How long have I been like this, you ask?

Truth is I don’t remember. According to my mom, I was eight when the signs of insanity began. Dr. Jolce says it’s probably a result of depression and mass stress. Mom would like to beg to differ. She says I was a good and happy kid.

Dad on the other hand insists that I was born like this.

He says it probably comes from and I quote, “Your mother’s side.” Mom usually cusses him out but in the end, breaks out into tears. It’s sad how my family has turned on each other,

just because I’m a nutcase.